A   BALLAD-MAKER'S  PACK 


BOOKS   BY 
ARTHUR  GUITERMAN 

A  BALLAD-MAKER'S  PACK 
BALLADS  OF  OLD  NEW  YORK 
THE  LAUGHING  MUSE 
THE  MIRTHFUL  LYRE 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK 
[ESTABLISHED  1817] 


A 

BALLAD-MAKER'S 
PACK 


ARTHUR  GUITERMAN 

// 

Author  of 

"The  Laughing  Muse"  "The  Mirthful  Lyre" 
"Ballads  of  Old  New  York"  etc. 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 

NEW    YORK    AND    LONDON 


A  B ALL An-M ACER'S  PACK 

Copyright,  1921,  by  Harper  &  Brothers 
Printed  in  the  United  St^tqs  of  Araericsi 


Your  Ballad-Maker  gives  thanks  to  those  for 
whom  many  of  these  Ballads  first  were  made 
— to  wit,  the  right  worthy  Editors  of  Life,  the 
New  York  Times,  The  Youth's  Companion, 
Collier's  Weekly,  The  Outlook,  the  Sun,  The  Bell 
man,  St.  Nicholas,  Munsey's,  the  New  York 
Tribune,  the  Woman's  Home  Companion,  The 
Popular  Magazine  (and  haply  others) — for  their 
courtesy  in  letting  him  have  back  his  poor  Songs 
that  he  might  put  them  again  in  this,  his  Pack. 


468419 


CONTENTS 

OF  MANY  LANDS 


PAGE 


THE  WINGS  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS    ......  3 

THE  METEORITE       6 

THE  MILKING  OF  EARTH 7 

TO-DAY  AND  TO-MORROW 10 

MAN  AND  TIME 12 

THE  SLAYER 15 

SONG  OF  THE  DEAD 18 

AT  THERMOPYLAE 20 

THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  ROSE 21 

SOCRATES 23 

HEYYAH  AND  AHEYYAH 24 

FALSEHOOD  AND  SIN 27 

DIVINE  RIGHT 28 

TRUTH  AND  FALSEHOOD 30 

THE  DAWN  OF  FAITH 31 

ISRAEL 34 

THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  PINE 36 

CHARITY 38 

THE  WISDOM  OF  CHUANG  Tzu       39 

VESUVIUS 40 

SIGRUN  OF  SEVAFELL 41 

YOUTH  AND  AGE 45 

THE  KING'S  DICING 46 

[vii] 


PAGE 

BLACK  ICE 49 

EILER 51 

A  SEA  DREAM 58 

COUNT  ARILD'S  HARVEST       59 

To  THE  MOON 62 

THE  MERMAN 63 

BREATH  OF  WINTER 66 

RAGNAROK 68 

To  SIR  THOMAS  MALLORY 71 

KING  ARTHUR  AND  THE  HALF-MAN 72 

THE  PERFECT  MARRIAGE 75 

THE  KNIGHTING  OF  GALIEN       76 

LANCELOT 83 

LEGEND 85 

QUEEN  YSEULT'S  BELL 87 

OSSIAN'S  RETURN 88 

GAWAINE'S  CHOICE 91 

THE  BLACK  DOUGLAS 92 

WAR 94 

THE  SEA-PEAS 95 

THE  MOTHER 98 

THE  QUEST 99 

STEFAN  OF  MOLDAVIA 101 

THE  JUDGMENT  OF  FLOWERS 104 

COSSACKS  OF  THE  DON 106 

THE  ROBBER 107 

THE  MOURNERS 109 

MIKULA  THE  PEASANT no 

THE  REVOLUTIONIST 113 

"THERE  is  NO  TSAR" 115 

f  viiil 


PAGE 

THE  JUDGMENT  OF  KAISER  JOSEF 116 

BAYARD 118 

THE  KING'S  CHAMPION  120 


OF  HIS  OWN  COUNTRY 

QUIVIRA 125 

SUNRISE 132 

THE  COLD-WOMAN 133 

SIGNS  OF  RAIN 136 

THE  STAR-PLANTERS 137 

THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  MEASURING-WORM     ...  141 

THE  LITTLE  BROTHER 145 

THE  FIRST  THANKSGIVING  DAY 150 

APPLEDORE 153 

THE  ROYAL  AUVERGNE 155 

WASHINGTON  AT  MONMOUTH •  .     .  159 

THE  BLUE  HEN'S  CHICKENS 162 

THE  SNARLERS 166 

LINCOLN  .     .         .     .         170 

THE  SCOUT  TRAIL 171 

OF  HIS  OWN  TIMES 

THE  CALL  TO  THE  COLORS 175 

THE  RUSH  OF  THE  "OREGON" 179 

THE  ROUGH  RIDERS 182 

TAPS        1 86 

A  GREAT  ECONOMIST 188 

ELSEWHERE,  R.  F.  D 190 

UNDER  THE  GOAL  POSTS 193 

[ix] 


PAGE 

IN  TRAINING 196 

THE  INDIA  PASSAGE 197 

BUSINESS 200 

A  MODERN  INSTANCE 204 

No  ONE  TO  BLAME 207 

HERCULES  &  Co 209 

OUT  OF  WORK 212 

BLAME  IT  ON  THE  ENGINEER 214 

DERELICTS 216 

CAUSE  AND  EFFECT 218 

A  FUNERAL  ORATION 219 

MY  HOST 222 

THE  CHALLENGE  OF  THE  YOUNG  MEN  ....  224 

PULL  YOUR  WEIGHT 226 

AMERICA  IN  ARMS 227 

THE  WORK 230 

THE  RED  CROSS  NURSE 232 

THE  PACIFIST  PORCUPINES 233 

THE  ANSWER ....  235 

THE  REALM  OF  FANFARONA 237 

THE  MARINES 240 

FARMERS 243 

RED  TAPE 245 

THE  RED-TAPE  WORM       249 

SWORD  AND  HORN 250 

ALLIES  DAY,  1917 252 

NEW  YEAR,  1918 253 

NEW  YEAR,  1919 255 

FARRAGUT  IN  MADISON  SQUARE 257 

HOME  AGAIN 259 

[x] 


OF  MANY  LANDS 


THE  WINGS  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS 

FROM   THE    SANSKRIT 

BEFORE  there  were  clouds  in  the  heavens, 

Before  there  were  summers  and  springs, 
Afar  in  the  fathomless  ages 

The  mountains,  the  mountains  had  wings. 
For,  first  of  the  works  of  creation 

Are  they  of  the  towering  crests, 
And  great  was  their  grandeur  and  glory, 

And  greater  the  pride  in  their  breasts. 

They  soared  to  the  starry  pavilions; 

Prodigious  in  power  and  girth, 
They  darkened  the  world  with  their  shadows. 

Yea,  truly,  unstable  was  Earth! 
For  madly  they  challenged  each  other, 

Till,  rising  in  menacing  flight, 
They  sundered  the  peace  of  the  ages; 

In  battle  they  measured  their  might. 

[3] 


Then,  rolling  together,  the  ranges 

In  thunderous  conflict  were  hurled; 
The  crags  of  the  helmeted  summits 

Were  scattered  abroad  through  the  world; 
Till  Pie  that  created  the  mountains, 

Who  stayeth  the  sea  with  His  hand, 
Dissevered  the  wings  from  their  shoulders 

And  rooted  the  hills  where  they  stand. 

So,  marshaled  in  order  of  battle 

The  rolling  sierras  are  seen; 
But  calm  are  the  helmeted  summits, 

And  calm  are  the  valleys  between. 
The  snows  of  the  aeons  have  softened 

The  pride  of  the  towering  crests, 
And  sunk  are  the  passionate  fires 

That  burned  in  the  cavernous  breasts. 

And  still  in  the  quiet  of  evening 
The  clouds  of  the  heavens  enfold 

The  bulk  of  the  great,  shraggy  shoulders 
In  ivory,  crimson,  and  gold; 

[4] 


For  these  are  the  wings  of  the  mountains, 
Though  clouds  to  the  vision  of  men, 

And  thus,  by  the  mercy  of  Heaven, 
They  come  to  the  mountains  again. 


[si 


THE  METEORITE 

WAS  this  the  flaming  thunderbolt  of  Jove 

That  crushed  the  last  of  earth's  gigantic  race — 
Some  frenzied  Titan  battling  to  efface 

The  might  that  made  him  ?    Where  is  he  that  strove 

Against  Omnipotence?     What  engine  drove 
Through  silent  leagues  of  unimagined  space 
These  ragged  tons  that  passed  and  left  no  trace 

But  cloven  mountain-side,  or  blasted  grove? 

What  daring  mind  may  dream  of  what  you  are, 
O  vagrant  flake  of  heaven's  iron  showers 

That  fell  ere  human  eye  was  made  to  see? 
Sky  derelict,  rude  wreckage  of  a  star, 

Stern  evidence  of  other  worlds  than  ours, 

Grim  sign  that  greater  worlds  have  ceased  to 
be! 


6] 


THE  MILKING  OF  EARTH 

FROM   THE    VEDAS 

OUR  valleys  and  prairies  were  deserts  of  dearth 
And  Prithu  the  Hero  would  quicken  the  Earth. 

But  Earth,  in  affright,  at  a  desperate  pace, 
Careered  to  the  uttermost  limits  of  Space, 

While  planets  and  galaxies  quivered  to  view 
The  flight  and  pursuit  through  the  marvelous  blue. 

And  Prithu  the  Hero  put  forward  his  might; 
He  bridled  the  Earth  with  a  halter  of  light; 

He  stroked  her  and  soothed  her  and  caused  her  to 
stand, 

Abrading  the  hills  with  his  quieting  hand; 

Then,  chanting  in  thunder,  he  tightened  her  girth 
And  stooped  to  his  labor — the  Milking  of  Earth. 
2  [7] 


He  drew  from  her  udder  the  bounteous  grain, 
The  fruits  of  the  orchard,  the  crops  of  the  plain, 

The  herbs  and  the  berries  of  mountain  and  glen, 
And  all  that  assuages  the  hunger  of  men. 

And  next  came  the  Spirits  of  Evil  or  Good 
To  draw  of  Earth's  plenitude,  each  as  he  would. 

The  godlike  Asuras  that  hover  above, 

They  milked  her  of  Wisdom,  of  Power  and  Love. 

The  fairy  Gandarhvas  that  sport  by  the  streams, 
They   milked    her   of   Blossoms    and    Odors    and 
Dreams. 

The  Gnomes  of  the  Mountains  that  delve  in  the 

mold, 
They  milked  her  of  Jewels  and  Silver  and  Gold. 

The  demon  Rakshasas — they  milked  her  of  Tears, 

Of  Serpents  and  Poisons,  of  Sabers  and  Spears. 

[8] 


Right  boldly  they  milked  her!  and  each  in  his  way; 
And  Earth  gave  them  freely,  as,  even  to-day, 

Of  Blessings  or  Curses,  of  Good  or  of  111, 

She  gives  to  her  Children  the  gifts  that  they  will. 


[9] 


TO-DAY  AND  TO-MORROW 

FROM  THE  VEDAS 

THERE  was  no  Night;   the  Great  Gods  walked  an 

earth 
That  knew  but  changeless   Day  when   man   had 

birth. 


The  first  of  men  was  Yama,  and  his  bride 
Was  Yami,  first  of  women.    Yama  died; 

And  Yami  mourned;   the  Gods  could  not  allay 
The  woe  of  her  that  wailed,  "He  died  To-day!" 

"Not  thus,"  the  Great  Ones  said,  "her  grief  may 

cease; 
Let  Night  be  made;    the   Dawn  shall   bring  her 

peace." 

fiol 


So  Night  was  made.    The  Morrow  tarried  not 
But  dawned  in  gold — and  Yama  was  forgot. 

Whence    came   the   word:     "To-day    is    not   To 
morrow; 
And  Days  and  Nights  make  all  forget  their  sorrow." 


MAN  AND  TIME 

WITHIN  the  house  of  pillared  cloud,  sublime, 
Where  dwell  the  Gods  of  Ind,  who  laugh  at  Time, 

The  Servant  Nandi  bent  in  wonted  toil, 
Anointing  Siva's  deathless  limbs  with  oil, 

When,  echoing  far,  a  sudden  booming  woke 
The  azure  vault;  and  thus  the  Servant  spoke: 

"O  Mahadeva,  whence  and  wherefore  comes 
The  boding  sound  like  that  of  many  drums?" 

The  God  replied:  "Upon  the  plain  of  Earth 
A  cannon  roars  to  hail  Rawana's  birth." 

He  scarce  had  said,  when,  yet  again  the  roar! 
"What  sound  is  that?"  the  Servant   asked  once 
more. 

[12] 


The  God  replied:    "The  cannon  shouts  again 
For  that  men  crown  Rawana  king  of  men/' 

Then  muttered  Nandi:   "Yea!  a  slave  on  high, 
A  drudge  on  Earth — and  what  reward  have  I  ? 

"While,  see!    Unproved,  unknown,  this  clod-born 

Thing 
That  naught  hath  merited  is  crowned  a  king!" 

Before  his  word  had  gone  where  folly  goes 
Yet  once  again  the  hollow  boom  arose. 

"The  cannon  tolls,"  unquestioned,  Siva  said, 
"To  bid  men  mourn  for  great  Rawana — dead." 

So  Nandi  blushed  for  shame:  "And  I,"  he  thought, 
"Who   serve   the   gods,   have   stooped    to   envy- 
Naught  ! 

"For  this  is  Naught,  whose  birth  and  life  and  death 
Have  scarce  the  space  of  one  immortal  breath." 

[13] 


"Time  passes !"     Men  in  fond  delusion  say. 
"No!"  Time  demurs;   "'tis  men  that  pass  away." 

The  High  Gods  laugh;  for  Man  and  Time  that  vie 
Are  waifs  of  Brahma's  dream— and  both  shall  die. 


Ful 


THE  SLAYER 

A    LEGEND    OF    HINDUSTAN 

THROUGH  Asia  stalked  the  Plague  of  fetid  breath 
While  ever  in  his  footsteps  followed  Death. 

But  as  the  Monster  whom  no  ravage  sates 
Held  on  and  on  toward  Bharat's  brazen  gates, 

The  priests  of  Bharat  wailed  at  Rudra's  shrine, 
"0  Mahadeva,  save  us,  that  are  thine!" 

Enthroned  in  highest  heaven,  Rudra  heard, 
And  spake  to  Nandi,  Servant  of  the  Word: 

"Go,  Nandi,  quell  the  Pest,  as  these  have  craved, 
Go,  save  my  people — if  they  will  be  saved." 

Forth  sallied  Nandi,  resolute  and  tall; 
He  met  the  Plague  before  the  city  wall; 

[15] 


They  strove — but  who  shall  Heaven's  might  with 
stand? — 
The  foul  Pest  quailed  in  Nandi's  iron  hand. 

Now  begged  the  Ogre.  "Thou  of  heavenly  race, 
Unconquered  Nandi,  grant  me,  of  thy  grace, 

"In  Bharat's  walls  but  one  brief  night  to  stay, 
Of  Bharat's  throngs  but  one  weak  man  to  slay, — 

"Such  bounty  for  mine  honor's  sake  I  claim, — 
And  back  I  crawl,  defeated,  whence  I  came." 

Thus  Nandi  made  the  pact,  and,  brazen-voiced 
Proclaimed  his  deed;    and  Bharat's  folk  rejoiced. 

But  ere  another  sultry  night  had  fled, 

In  Bharat's  walls  a  hundred  men  lay  dead! 

And  Bharat's  people  gasped,  with  faces  pale, 
"The  Plague! — Is  Heaven's  might  of  no  avail?" 

In  blazing  wrath  strode  Nandi  forth  again; 
He  found  the  Plague,  couched  in  a  stagnant  fen. 
[16] 


"Ah,   traitor!"   cried   the   god,   "what  hast   thou 

done! 
Didst  thou  not  swear  that  thou  wouldst  take  but 

one? 

"Yet,  lo!  in  Bharat  burn  a  hundred  pyres!— 
Then  from  this  hand  take  Heaven's  gift  to  liars!" 

Harsh  laughed  the  Plague,  and  answered,  "Even  so 
I  kept  true  faith,  O  Nandi,  let  me  go! 

"But  one  I  slew,  by  all  that  men  revere!— 
The  other  nine-and-ninety  died  of  Fear!" 


SONG  OF  THE  DEAD 

A   HINDU   THRENODY 

THE  day  our  sinews  thrilled  with  wholesome  toil, 
When  bullocks  lowed,  when  plowshares  cleft  the 

soil, 

When  thankful  bread  we  ate  and  soft  we  lay — 
Hath  passed  away,  hath  passed  away. 

The  day  when  Comfort  filled  the  house,  when  light 
And  warmth  of  Friendship  blessed  the  cheery  night, 
When  rice  we  had,  and  fire — that  pleasant  day 
Hath  passed  away,  hath  passed  away. 

The  day  when  all  the  world  was  harsh  and  cold; 
When,  scorned  of  Youth,  we  quavered,  weak  and 

old, 
When  backs  were  bare  and  plains  were  bleak, — that 

day 

Hath  passed  away,  hath  passed  away. 
[18] 


The  day  we  loved — (Oh,  Dust  of  Hearts,  be  still  !)- 
The  day  we  mourned, — all  days  of  good  or  ill 
Are  one  at  last,  for  Time's  deceiving  day 
Hath  passed  away,  hath  passed  away. 

Then  heed  the  word  that  comforted  a  King — 
That  Birbal  graved  on  Akbar's  signet  ring: 
For,  "Grief  with  Gladness,  Adamant  with  Clay, 
Shall  pass  away,  shall  pass  away." 


[19] 


AT  THERMOPYLAE 

QUOTH  Persia's  ambassador,  "Dare  ye  defy 

Great  Xerxes,  the  Glorious  One? 
O  Spartan,  the  Median  arrows  will  fly 

In  clouds  that  will  darken  the  sun!" 

Leonidas  balanced  a  javelin  shaft, 

Leonidas  fingered  the  blade: 
"Then  we  shall  fight  in  the  shade,"  he  laughed; 

"Then  we  shall  fight  in  the  shade!" 


I  20] 


THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  ROSE 

RHODOPE,  fair  as  Helen,  Sparta's  pride, 
Had  suitors  three  that  hardly  left  her  side, 

But  warmly  wooed  her,  haunting  all  her  ways, 
Nor  ever  ceased  to  hymn  the  loved  one's  praise. 

One  summer  morn,  in  votive  robes  arrayed, 
Before  Diana's  altar  bowed  the  maid; 

Yet  even  there  those  impious  lovers  came 
And  scorned  the  goddess  for  their  lady's  fame. 

"Tear  down,"  they  cried,  "that  image  from  the 

shrine! 
There  should  Rhodope  stand,  by  right  divine!" 

The  jealous  goddess  heard.     In  angry  might 
She  burst  upon  the  trembling  sinners'  sight; 

[21] 


She  waved  the  wand  that  good  or  ill  bestows 
And  changed  her  mortal  rival  to  a  Rose. 

More  sadly  altered  shrunk  those  suitors  three — 
A  Canker-worm,  a  Butterfly,  a  Bee! 

And  still  where  blooms  the  Rose,  her  suitors  range; 
Though  changed  their  forms,  their  natures  may  not 
change. 

The  Canker-worm  still  plays  his  former  part; 
His  selfish  love  he  feeds  upon  her  heart. 

The  thrifty  Bee  sucks  all  the  sweet  he  may, 
Then,  honey-sated,  heavy  booms  away. 

The  vagrant  Butterfly  is  longer  true, 

But,  when  her  petals  wither,  leaves  her  too. 

Maiden,  hadst  ever  lovers  like  those  three — 
The  Canker-worm,  the  Butterfly,  the  Bee? 


22] 


SOCRATES 

IF  Death  be  Sleep,  is  Rest  a  thing  to  fear? 
If  Death  be  Life,  'tis  all  that  men  hold  dear. 
And  so  we  part,  my  Crito,  thou  and  I. 
Thy  doom  is  still  to  live^  and  mine  to  die. 
And  whose  the  better  fate?    Ah,  that  is  known 
To  Him  who  ruleth  Fate — to  God  alone." 


HEYYAH  AND  AHEYYAH 

A    LEGEND    OF    THE    DELUGE 

REARED  on  a  spur  of  the  wild  Himalaya, 
Bravest  and  best  of  the  kindred  of  Cain, 

Heyyah,  the  smith,  and  his  brother,  Aheyyah, 
Wrought  at  the  forges  and  furrowed  the  plain. 

Mighty  of  stature,  of  courage  unbending, 
Blest  with  the  vigor  and  sinew  of  ten, 

Great  were  the  labors  they  brought  to  their  ending; 
Great  was  their  fame  in  the  cities  of  men. 

Resting  at  midnight,  a  vision  appalled  them, 
Vexing  their  slumber  with  wraiths  of  despair; 

Sternly  the  messenger,  Metatron,  called  them: 
"Offspring  of  Lamech!  betake  ye  to  prayer! 

"Rent  are  the  deeps  and  their  uttermost  fountains, 
Touched  by  the  hand  of  Jehovah  on  high. 


Ocean  shall  break  on  the  crests  of  the  mountains. 
All — save  the  children  of  Noah — must  die!" 

"Oh!  and  alas!"  cried  the  brothers  in  sorrow. 

"Vain  is  our  toiling  and  dead  is  our  fame! 
Who  will  remember  our  deeds  on  the  morrow, 

Tell  of  our  prowess,  or  name  us  by  name?" 

"Nay!"    said    the    angel.      "Since   well   ye   have 
striven, 

Have  your  desire  and  slumber  in  peace. 
Safe  is  your  fame,  for  the  names  ye  were  given 

Ne'er  from  the  lips  of  the  toiler  shall  cease. 

"Heavers  of  burdens  with  roller  and  lever, 
Builders  of  temples  and  raisers  of  frames, 

Straining  together,  forever  and  ever, 

'Heyyah!    Aheyyah!'  shall  call  on  your  names." 

Gladly  they  heard  him;  and,  e'en  as  he  bade  them, 
Bowed  to  their  Maker,  and  peacefully  slept, 

Trusting  the  truth  of  the  promise  he  made  them. 
Nobly  the  nations  that  promise  have  kept! 

[25] 


"Heyyah!  Aheyyah!" — the  chorus  that  freemen 
Sing  to  the  cadence  of  hammer  and  flail. 

"Heyyah!  Aheyyah!"  the  chantey  of  seamen 
Weighing  the  anchor  and  hoisting  the  sail. 

"Heyyah!  Aheyyah!"  the  builders  proclaim  them. 

So  through  the  ages,  though  pencil  and  pen 
Tell  not  their  doings,  and  deign  not  to  name  them, 

Thus  are  the  workers  remembered  of  men. 


[26] 


FALSEHOOD  AND  SIN 

FROM   THE   TALMUD 

AMONG  the  beasts  that  thronged  to  fill  the  ark 

Slunk  Falsehood  in  a  lizard's  borrowed  guise 
And  begged  for  refuge;   but  the  Patriarch 

Denied  her,  saying,  "He  that  rules,  All-Wise, 
Hath  given  charge  that  none  shall  pass  within 

Save  mated  pairs,  and  thou  art  come  alone." 
Then  Falsehood,  baffled,  sought  her  playmate,  Sin, 

Imploring,  "Friend,  the  shape  that  I  have  shown 
Do  thou  assume  as  my  pretended  mate 

That  both  be  saved."     Sin  answered,  "I  agree; 
But  give  the  pledge  thou  darest  not  violate 

That,  henceforth,  all  thy  gains  thou'lt  yield  to 

me." 

And  so  'twas  done:  As  mates  they  entered  in, 
And  Falsehood's  gains  are  ever  claimed  by  Sin. 


27 


DIVINE  RIGHT 

NIMROD,  that  mighty  hunter,  grandly  known, 

Whose  deeds  the  ancient  bards  of  Asshur  sing, 
Laid  by  the  bow  to  mount  a  royal  throne 

And,  first  of  men,  proclaimed  himself  a  King. 
One  eve  it  chanced  the  Self-anointed  sought 

The  open  plain,  where,  casting  up  his  eyes, 
He  saw  (by  hands  of  mocking  demons  wrought) 

A  wondrous  cloud  whose  glory  filled  the  skies — 
A  golden  circlet  hedged  with  rays  that  gleamed 

In  jeweled  splendor;   and, — he  knew  not  how 
The  thought  arose, — a  diadem  it  seemed 

Designed    by    Heaven    to    crown    a   monarch's 
brow. 

Then  called  the  King  an  artist  famed  of  old 

Hight  Santal,  saying,  "Goldsmith,  for  my  love 

Devise  a  helm  of  ruby-studded  gold 

In  counterpart  of  that  thou  seest  above." 
[28! 


The  Goldsmith  wrought;    the  King  ere  long  was 
crowned 

By  his  own  hand;   and  thence  a  rumor  flew 
From  Nineveh  to  reach  the  farthest  bound 

Of  Erech-Accad,  telling  as  it  grew 
Of  how,  as  Nimrod  made  a  sacrifice 

To  Sin  the  Moon-God  and  his  prayer  was  said, 
A  golden  crown  descended  from  the  skies 

To  grace  the  Heaven-chosen  Monarch's  head! 

Right  willingly  his  people's  ears  received 
The  legend  of  their  Ruler's  glory;  yea, 

The  tale  at  length  the  King  himself  believed! — 
But  Kings  are  wiser  in  our  modern  day. 


29] 


TRUTH  AND   FALSEHOOD 

OLD  Time  was  young,  men's  hearts  were  all  untried 

By  Grief  and  Sin,  when  round  this  whirling  ball 
Pure  Truth  and  Falsehood  journeyed  side  by  side 

In  free  companionship.     At  evenfall 
Of  that  long  day  which  closed  the  Age  of  Gold 

They  came  to  Pleasure's  lake,  and  both  were  glad 
To  cast  their  robes  and  seek  those  waters  cold. 

But  Falsehood,  first  emerging,  lightly  clad 
Her  limbs  in  Truth's  white  garments,  fresh  and  fair, 

And  swiftly  fled  away  with  mocking  mirth; 
While  Truth,  disdaining  Falsehood's  tattered  wear, 

Pursued.     So  still  around  the  dizzy  earth 
Flies  Falsehood,  well-disguised  in  Truth's  array, 
While  Truth  runs  after,  naked  to  the  day. 


THE  DAWN  OF  FAITH 

FROM   THE    TALMUD 

AMTHETA,  bride  of  Terah,  bare  a  son, 

Predestined,  warned  the  priests,  to  overthrow 
The  heathen  lords  of  Shinar;  so  to  shun 

The  death  decreed  by  Nimrod, — he  whose  bow 
Prevailed  through  Ur, — in  stealth  the  child  was  bred 

Deep  in  a  cavern,  knowing  naught  of  day 
Nor  all  the  changing  wonder  overhead. 

There,  taught  by  mother-lips,  he  learned  to  say 
Names  for  earth  miracles  unseen  by  him, 

Yet,  trusting  mother-love,  he  knew  they  were. 
So  passed  the  years;  old  prophecies  grew  dim; 

The  fate  of  Terah's  son  was  naught  to  Ur. 

At  length  from  out  his  living  tomb  of  stone 
The  mother  led  her  boy  when  dawn  was  nigh 

And  left  him  on  the  hill-girt  plain,  alone, 
In  wordless  awe  beneath  the  unknown  sky. 

[31] 


"Who   wrought   these   marvels?"      Even    on    the 
thought 

Up  from  the  east  in  glory  leaped  the  sun, 
Too  bright  for  eye  to  view.    The  lad's  heart  caught 

The  answer:  "Lol    He  comes — the  Radiant  One 
That  made  the  world!"    But  day  was  lost  in  night. 

The  sun  went  down.    Above  the  shadowed  scaurs 
Arose  the  sphere  of  placid,  holy  light, 

With  all  the  wide-strewn  multitude  of  stars. 
"Nay;    this  is  Heaven's  Ruler,  calm   and  still," 

The  boy  avowed;  "and  these,  around  him  drawn, 
Be  lesser  gods  that  do  his  silent  will." 

Down  rolled  the  moon.    The  stars  paled  out  in 

dawn. 
Doubting,  desponding,  watching,  all  the  day 

He  pondered,  "What  is  God  ?  and  what  am  I — 
Abram,  the  son  of  Terah?"    As  he  lay, 

Sounding  the  starry  deeps  of  midnight  sky 
With  yearning  gaze,  sudden  the  knowledge  came. 

"These  be  Thy  works!"  he  cried.     "The  world 

hath  none, — 
Man,  moon,  nor  star,  wind,  ocean,  torrent,  flame, 

Creating  or  self-dowered.     Thou  art  One! 

[32] 


Loving,  Eternal;  hid,  yet  seen  in  all 

These  wonders  of  Thy  hand.     To  Thee  be  praise, 
Honor  and  prayer!     On  God  my  lips  shall  call; 

Him  shall  my  heart  give  homage  all  my  days!" 


[331 


ISRAEL 

"  And  I  will  bless  them  that  bless  iheey  and  curse  him 
that  curseth  thee" 

THOU  art  but  One!     O  God  to  Whom  we  bow 

In  adoration; 
E'en  as  in  Egypt,  Thou  wilt  hear  us  now — 

Thy  Chosen  Nation. 

Much  have  we  sinned;   far  from  Thy  face  have 
fled, 

By  passion  driven. 

Deep  our  repentance;  Thou  Thyself  hast  said 
We  are  forgiven. 

Empires  of  old  upon  us  heaped  their  chains, 

Burthens  and  lashes; 
Thy  thunders  rolled — and  of  their  might  remains 

Rubble — and  ashes! 

[34] 


Still  those  we  taught  to  hold  Thy  Name  in  awe 

Smite  and  berate  us; 
We  are  the  leash  that  binds  them  to  Thy  Law — 

Wherefore  they  hate  us! 

Vengeance  is  Thine!  yet,  Thine  is  mercy,  too. 

"Shield  us,  but  grieve  them 

Not!"  be  our  prayer;   "They  know  not  what  they 
do. 

Father!  forgive  them!" 


35 


THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  PINE 

BENAIAH  BEN  JEHOIDAH,  he  that  led 

The  armored  host  of  Solomon,  bent  low 
Before  that  ancient  king.     "My  lord,"  he  said, 

"Long  leagues  on  leagues  beyond  the  Jordan's 

flow 
I  sought  the  priceless  gift  that  now  I  bear 

To  thee,  beloved  master.     Lo!  within 
This  cup  of  golden  beryl  sparkle  fair 

Those  drops  that  fell  before  the  world  knew  sin— 
The  Dews  of  Life,  a  draught  whereof  shall  give 

Immortal  youth,  eternal,  deathless  Spring, 
To  him  that  drains  their  essence.     Drink  and  live 

Forever,  Shield  of  Judah!" 

And  the  king, 
The  noble  beaker  taking,  paused  a  space 

To  dream,  as  old  men  will;  then,  musing,  spoke: 
"To  live  forever!     So;  when  all  my  race 

Have  passed  away,  alone  to  bear  my  yoke 

[36] 


Of  care!     To  live  when  none  is  left  alive 

Of  those  I  love,  of  those  whom  even  now 
My  heart  desires!     What?  shall  I  survive 

All,  all  my  friends — such  perfect  friends  as  thou, 
True,  gallant  soldier?     Nay!     The  Sacred  Lands 

Let  others  rule.     My  days  are  growing  few. 
Man's  life  belongs  in  God's  almighty  hands, 

And  thus — I  do  as  God  would  have  me  do!" 
He  turned  the  cup.    The  precious  drops  were  flung 

Upon  the  sands;    and  where,  with  life  divine 
They  touched  the  barren  waste,  in  beauty  sprung 

That  faithful  tree,  the  never-fading  Pine. 


I37l 


CHARITY 

AN    ARAB   TRADITION 

WHERE'ER  thou  goest,  angels  two 
Attend  thee,  one  on  either  side: 

What  good  or  ill  thy  hands  may  do 

They  write  on  parchment  fair  and  wide. 

So,  hast  thou  helped  the  stranger's  need 
Or  fed  the  poor  that  seek  thy  door? — 

The  Right-hand  Scribe  records  the  deed 
Not  once  alone,  but  ten  times  o'er. 

But  hast  thou  sinned? — That  Seraph  bright 
Delays  the  Darker  Angel's  pen: 

"Forbear,"  he  prays,  "nor  haste  to  write! 
Our  Brother  may  repent.     Amen!" 


[381 


THE  WISDOM  OF  CHUANG  TZU 

CHUANG  Tzu  lay  dying.     'Round  his  pallet  drew 
The  sad  disciples:   "Lord  of  Truth,"  they  cried, 

"What  kingly  obsequies,  thy  fitting  due, 

May  we,  who  love,  perform?"    The  sage  replied: 

Broad  earth  shall  be  my  bier,  deep  sky  my  shell, 
Sun,  moon,  and  stars  the  catafalque  illume 
With  golden  lamps;   the  sea  shall  toll  my  knell, 
And  all  creation  watch  my  royal  tomb." 

Yet  still  they  grieved:  "Beloved  Master,  no! 

Shall  such  as  thou  be  food  for  birds  unblest?" 
He  spake:  "The  kite  above,  the  worm  below; 

Why  rob  the  one  to  feed  the  other  guest? 

"I  who  was  not,  became;   find  comfort  then. 
For  I  that  now  am  not  shall  be  again." 

4  l39l 


VESUVIUS 

AN  altar  of  the  Primal  Gods  am  I — 

Those  "shrouded  Gods"  whom  dark  Etruscans 
knew 

But  dared  not  worship.     I,  their  homage  due 
Still  pay  with  incense  lifted  toward  the  sky. 
Across  my  plains  the  Races  surge,  and  die — 

Pelasgian,  Umbrian,  Roman.    Ashes  strew 

The  arms  that  conquered  emoire.     Deep  from 

view 

About  my  base  the  buried  cities  lie. 
And  now  immortal  rage  inflames  my  soul. 

The  Shrouded  Ones  are  wroth  that  homes  of  men 

Profane  their  sanctuaries.     Lightnings  sheen 
Flash  swords  above  me.     Round  my  craters  roll 

The  Eleven  Thunders,  roaring,  "Wake!    Again 
With  Desolation  make  our  places  clean!" 


40 


SIGRUN  OF  SEVAFELL 

FROM  THE  HELGI  LAYS 
SIGRUN 

"HE  will  not  come  from  Odin's  hall 
Where  nobly  feast  the  nobly  slain; 

His  ear  is  deaf  to  Sigrun's  call; 
For  Helgi,  here  I  wait  in  vain. 

"The  hawks  have  sought  the  rowan  tree, 
The  waning  ember  faintly  gleams, 

And  all  the  household,  bond  and  free, 

Are  thronged  within  the  Place  of  Dreams." 

HELGI 

"Ho!  Sigrun,  look  from  Sevafell! 

For  Helgi  comes,  thy  summoned  guest. 
The  molds  have  marred  his  golden  selle, 

Thy  brother's  sword  hath  pierced  his  breast, 


"Then  haste  to  stanch  his  bleeding  wounds 
And  cleanse  his  brow  of  earthy  stain! 

Before  Salgofnir's  clarion  sounds 
To  wake  the  host  on  Asgard's  plain, 

"His  fallow  steed  must  briskly  fare 
On  ways  untrod  of  living  man — 

Along  the  reddening  roads  of  air, 

Across  the  Rainbow's  glowing  span." 

SIGRUN 
"Now  glad  am  I  as  swords  that  ring 

On  sharding  shields  in  battle-gale! 
And  I  will  kiss  thee!  my  dead  King, 

Ere  thou  canst  doff  thy  riven  mail. 

"Thy  locks  with  dripping  rime  are  wet, 
Thy  hands,  my  Helgi,  wan  and  cold; 

Thy  form  is  drenched  with  deathly  sweat — 
Thy  rest  is  ill  beneath  the  mold/' 

HELGI 

"Thou  weepest  cruel  tears; — they  sear 
Those  eyes  that  should  be  closed  in  rest, 

[4*1 


My  golden  maid;  and  every  tear 

Falls  dank  and  chill  on  Helgi's  breast." 

SIGRUN 
"Then  Sigrun's  eyes  no  more  shall  weep; 

And  Sigrun's  heart  alone  shall  crave 
That  Sigrun's  self  may  watch  thy  sleep 

And  soothe  thy  rest  within  the  grave." 

HELGI 
"0  sun-bright  lady  of  the  South! 

My  royal  maid  of  Sevafell! 
Shall  red  lips  kLs  a  pallid  mouth? — 

The  Quick  within  the  barrow  dwell?" 

SIGRUN 

"What  joy  have  I  in  Sevafell, 

Or  feast  in  hall  or  fleet  on  sea? 
On  Asgard's  height,  in  utter  Hell, 

Through  Life,  through  Death,  I  cling  to  thee!1 

HELGI 

"A  marvel  great  as  skald  may  sing 
While  Urdhr  spins  the  fateful  thread! 

[43] 


This  white-armed  daughter  of  a  king 
Would,  living,  dwell  among  the  dead! 

"Then  mount!    O  bravest  maid  of  all, 
Thou  sea-king's  child,  my  queenly  bride! 

We  twain  shall  fare  to  Odin's  hall. 
Across  the  Bridge  of  God  we  ride!'* 


l44l 


YOUTH  AND  AGE 

AN   OLD   NORSE    SONG 

BERSI,  the  champion,  Famed  in  his  day, 
Aged  and  bedridden,  drowsily  lay. 
Halldor,  the  baby,  the  grandfather's  pride, 
Cooed  in  his  cradle  the  pallet  beside. 
Recklessly  rocking,  the  cradle  fell  o'er; 
Halldor,  the  baby,  was  cast  on  the  floor! 
Strengthless  to  succor  his  torment  and  joy, 
Bersi,  the  champion,  sang  to  the  boy: 
"Lorn,  by  the  fireside  helpless  we  lie, 
Grandchild  and  grandfather,  Halldor  and  I. 
*  Youth'  is  the  ailment  that  hindereth  thee; 
'Age'  is  the  sickness  that  conquereth  me. 
Weep  not,  0  grandson,  but  bravely  endure; 
Time  is  thy  healer— but  what  is  my  cure?" 


Usl 


THE   KINGS'   DICING 

A   TALE    OF    SWEDEN   AND    NORWAY 

OLAF,  Lord  of  Sweden's  yeomen, 
Pledged  to  peace  in  solemn  Thing, 

Met  in  tryst  his  ancient  foeman, 
Bright-haired  Olaf,  Norway's  King. 

Near  the  Rock  of  Kings  they  bided. 

Doffing  corslet,  sword,  and  helm, 
There  the  gold-ringed  chiefs  divided 

Norway's  lands  from  Sweden's  realm. 

Fair  were  drawn  the  writings  telling 
Metes  of  fields  and  whose  the  sway, 

Save  of  one  good  farm  and  dwelling — • 
Sweden's?    Norway's?    None  could  say. 

Then  spake  Norway's  Olaf:  "  Brother, 
One  poor  farm's  of  little  store. 

[46] 


Shall  we  game  with  one  another? 
Shall  we  cast  the  dice  therefor?" 

Sweden's  lord,  the  well-appareled, 

Bowed;  then,  casting,  roared,  "Ho!  ho! 

Sixes  fall !    O,  son  of  Harald, 
Little  need  for  thee  to  throw!" 

Olaf  smiled.     "Is  Fate  a  niggard? 

Happening  once  may  happen  twice; 
Are  there  not,  thou  blood  of  Sigurd, 

Still  two  sixes  on  the  dice?" 

Sixes  fell!     In  wrath  the  other 

Flung;  then  vaunted,  "Mine  at  last! 

Sixes  twain !     My  royal  brother, 
Never  shalt  thou  best  that  cast!" 

Careless,  gay,  with  merry  clatter 
Olaf  shook  the  dice  and  threw; 

"Truly,  'tis  a  little  matter 
For  the  Lord  my  God  to  do!" 

[47] 


Sixes  fell!     Yet,  greater  wonder, 
Like  a  gem  of  Summer  hail 

Burst  one  figured  cube  asunder — 
Six  and  seven  made  the  tale! 

So  the  realms  in  peace  were  parted. 

So  fair  Hising's  wolds  of  rye 
Fell  to  Norway's  lion-hearted 

By  the  breaking  of  a  die. 


[48 


BLACK  ICE 

BENEATH  the  ice  the  Kelpie  laughed— 
A  jarring,  chuckling,  boding  peal. 

I  knew  the  green-haired  warlock's  craft 
And  leaped  away  on  rapid  steel. 

Among  the  reeds  an  oozy  lair 

He  makes,  and  schools  his  web-foot  kin 
To  weave  the  charm  and  set  the  snare 

And  draw  the  heedless  skater  in. 

But  crystal-hard  is  all  the  flow 

And  dark  as  eyes  of  Eastern  maids; 

The  startled  fishes  flash  below 

And  brighter  flash  our  skimming  blades. 

Upon  the  pines  the  moonbeam  lies; 

Cold  silver  bathes  the  barren  scaurs: 
The  frozen  lake  repeats  the  skies; 

We  seem  to  glide  among  the  stars. 

[49] 


The  glassy  sheet  from  shore  to  shore 
We  trace  with  curve  and  quaint  device, 

When,  hark!  again  that  crackling  roar! 
The  Kelpie  laughs  beneath  the  ice. 


[50] 


EILER 

A    CHRISTMAS    LEGEND    OF    OLD    DENMARK 

A  SONG  from  the  fells  of  Norway  r 
A  lay  of  the  Lap  or  Swede? 

Hark  to  a  tale  of  Jutland 

And  men  that  were  men  indeed. 

Gurth,  with  his  wild  sea-rovers, 

Gurth  of  the  Iron  Ring, 
Ravaged  the  realm  of  Fuurland, 

Slaughtered  the  aged  king. 

Eiler,  the  Prince  of  Fuurland, 

Wounded  and  desolate, 
Fled  to  the  land  of  Saaling 

Over  the  Saaling  Strait. 

Alger  of  Sarling  gave  him 
Life  and  a  soldier's  part. 
[51] 


Helvig,  the  fair-browed  princess, 
Gave  him  her  maiden  heart, 

Bravely  in  Alger's  castle 

Guested  a  noble  throng; 
Wild  was  the  Yule-tide  wassail, 

Gay  was  the  Yule-tide  song, 

When,  with  a  shout,  a  spearman 
Rushed  through  the  guardless  gate: 

"Gurth,  with  his  horde  of  wasters, 
Rides  in  the  Saaling  Strait!" 

Proudly  the  King  of  Saaling 

Spake  from  the  throne-chair's  height: 
"Ye  that  came  here  for  feasting, 

Say,  will  ye  bide  to  fight?" 

Down  looked  the  long-haired  chieftains; 

Stilled  were  the  sounds  of  mirth; 
Weak  was  the  shield  of  Alger; 

Sharp  was  the  sword  of  Gurth. 


Out  spake  the  fair-browed  Helvig, 
Princess  of  Saaling-land: 

"Kinsmen  and  friends  of  Alger, 
Long  have  ye  sought  my  hand. 

"Know,  I  am  pledged  to  Eiler; 

Yet  do  I  swear  to  wed 
Him  who  shall  strike  the  hardest 

Warding  my  father's  head!" 

Loud  as  the  chant  of  war-horna 
Chorused  the  steel-girt  line: 

"Maiden,  the  meed  of  heroes, 
Hail!  for  our  swords  are  thine!" 

Lone  by  his  hearthstone,  Eiler 
Wrought  on  a  war-hacked  blade; 

Thither  the  blue-eyed  Helvig 
Came  with  her  bower-maid: 

"Here  is  a  true  blade,  Eiler; 

There  is  the  pirate  clan. 
Him  do  I  wed,  whose  bearing 

Proves  him  the  bravest  man." 

l  ui 


Cloaked  were  the  arms  of  Eiler 
(Cloaked  was  the  Heavens'  lamp); 

Forth  in  the  dark  he  wended, 
Threading  the  foeman's  camp, 

Straight  to  the  scantly  guarded 
Thatch  of  the  Pirate  King, — 

He  of  his  heart's  black  hatred — 
Gurth  of  the  Iron  Ring. 

There,  in  the  torch-lit  glamour 
Dimmed  by  the  peat-fire  smoke, 

Strong  in  his  age,  the  viking, 
Wrapped  in  a  scarlet  cloak, 

Lay  like  a  sculptured  image. 

Doffed  was  the  steel-wrought  vest; 
Only  the  beard  of  silver 

Heaved  on  the  mighty  chest. 

Swiftly  the  ready  weapon 

Flashed  from  the  leathern  sheath; 
Keenly  the  long,  bright  dagger 

Poised  o'er  the  heart  beneath: 

[54] 


"Strike!  for  thy  Love  and  kingdom! 

There  lies  thy  people's  ban! 
There  lies  thy  father's  slayer! — " 

There  lay — a  sleeping  man. 

Up  drew  the  cold-blue  dagger, 
Gleamed  in  the  flickered  red, 

Harmless  it  sank,  to  quiver 
Deep  in  the  couch's  head. 

Back  from  a  bootless  danger, 

Hid  in  the  mirky  pall, 
Eiler,  the  Prince  of  Fuurland, 

Clambered  the  leaguered  wall. 

Roused  with  the  dawn,  the  vikings, 
Wild  as  a  stream  in  spate 

Swept  over  moat  and  rampart, 
Surged  through  the  castle  gate. 

Hopeless  for  press  of  numbers, 
Alger  the  King  came  down; 

Silent,  to  Gurth  he  proffered 
Sword  hilt  and  golden  crown. 

[551 


"God's  peace  be  with  thee,  Brother," 

Gravely  the  viking  said; 
"Hold  to  thy  crown — 'tis  shapen 

Best  for  thy  kingly  head. 

"Greatly  I  longed  to  see  thee 
Throned  in  thy  banquet-hall, 

And,  since  thy  gates  were  barred  us, 
Troth,  we  have  scaled  the  wall. 

"Here  is  a  knife — a  token 

Left  in  my  sleeping-place 
Surely  by  one  that  loves  me; 

Fain  would  I  know  his  face." 

Forth  strode  a  fierce  young  kemper 
Straight  as  the  Baltic  pine: 

"Eiler  am  I,  of  Fuurland; 
Pirate,  the  knife  is  mine!" 

Hoarsely  the  sea  king  murmured, 
"Thou? — In  the  secret  night 

Thy  point  was  at  my  bosom  ? 

Thine! — and  thou  didst  not  smite! 

[56] 


"Oh,  I  have  wronged  thee  deeply! 

I,  that  have  never  sued, 
Beg  thee  to  take  atonement, 

Beg  thee  to  heal  the  feud. 

"See,  I  am  old  and  childless, 
Lone  in  my  wrath  and  pride. 

Come  to  thine  own  in  Fuurland — 
Thou  and  thy  fair  young  bride!" 

So  was  the  old  wrong  righted, 
When,  in  that  far-off  time, 

Blithely  the  bridal  measure 

Blent  with  the  Christmas  chime. 


[57] 


A  SEA  DREAM 

OFF  the  coast  of  the  Isle  of  Peril, 
In  the  depths  of  the  heaving  tides, 

All  aglow  through  its  walls  of  beryl 
Is  the  house  where  the  Sea  King  bides. 

There  he  laughs  when  the  norther  rages, 
There  he  dreams  while  the  surges  drone; 

And  the  spoils  of  the  fleets  of  ages 
Are  the  tithes  of  his  sapphire  throne. 

Through  the  spray  of  the  booming  waters, 
Through  the  chant  of  the  swinging  sea, 

Thrills  the  song  of  the  Sea  King's  daughters 
And  it  comes  as  a  call  to  me. 

Oh,  the  sky  is  a  turquoise  chalice 

And  the  bar  is  a  golden  glaive, 
As  I  plunge  to  the  Sea  King's  palace 

In  the  gulfs  of  the  cool,  green  wave! 

[58] 


COUNT  ARILD'S  HARVEST 

A   DANISH    LEGEND 

"Mv  lord  the  Earl,"  Count  Arild  said, 
"Thy  lawful  captive,  here  I  stand; 

Yet  grant  me  leave  again  to  tread 

Fair  Solberg's  earth — to  plow  my  land, 

"To  sow  and  till  those  acres  wide; 

But  when  the  harvest  yield  is  stored 
To  Aalborg's  keep  once  more  I'll  ride 

And  give  myself  to  chain  or  sword." 

"One  harvest  more?     The  time  is  short/' 
The  Earl  replied;  "I  grant  it  thee." 

Count  Arild  passed  the  frowning  port 
And  spurred  for  Solberg  fast  and  free. 

But  thrice  the  Danish  fields  were  sown, 
And  thrice  the  waving  harvest  glowed, 

[59] 


Yet  back  to  Aalborg's  keep  of  stone 
The  Count  of  Solberg  never  rode. 

To  Solberg's  hall  Earl  Eric  came. 

"A  reed,"  he  cried,  "is  Arild's  oath! 
False  Count,  unworthy  knighthood's  name, 

Thy  faith  and  head  are  forfeit,  both!" 

"Nay,  Earl,"  Count  Arild  laughed,  "not  so! 

For  see!  my  faith  and  head  I  keep; 
My  acorn-fields  have  much  to  grow 

Before  their  oaks  are  ripe  to  reap!" 

Earl  Eric  stared:  Where  once  the  sheaves 
Of  gathered  grain  at  harvest  stood, 

The  furrows  shone  with  glossy  leaves 
Of  baby  oaks, — a  future  wood. 

So  wit  and  shrewdness  conquered  strife, 
And  hate  in  laughter  found  an  end. 

The  Count  of  Solberg  won  his  life, 
The  Earl  of  Aalborg  gained  a  friend. 
[60] 


In  slumber  lies  the  earl,  full  low; 

The  Count  beside  him  shares  his  sleep; 
The  mighty  oaks  of  Solberg  know 

That  Arild's  fields  are  still  to  reap. 


[61 


TO  THE  MOON 

BELOVED  of  lovers,  bards,  astronomers, 

Mythologists  and  other  lunatics, 
What  blurs  thy  shield?     The  Puritan  avers 

He  finds  a  Sabbath-breaker  stealing  sticks 
Defined  thereon.     The  Jews  placed  Jacob  there; 

The  Romans  found  a  Sibyl  with  a  scroll. 
A  toad,  a  frog,  a  cat,  a  rat,  a  hare, 

Two  children  bearing  buckets  on  a  pole, 
An  elephant,  the  green  of  moldy  cheese, 

Dark  Cain  with  thorns,  his  scornful  sacrifice, 
Upon  a  fork, — and  portents  like  to  these 

Are  seen  from  different  lands  by  different  eyes; 
Yet  most  upon  thy  silver  surface,  trace 
A  maiden's  features, — each,  a  different  face. 


[62 


THE  MERMAN 

AN    ICELANDIC   BALLAD 

THE  fisher  tarred  the  twisted  cord 
And  cast  the  net  in  Borgar  Fiord 
Where  laughs  the  merman. 

And  when  he  drew  the  hempen  snare 
He  found  the  merman  trammeled  there. 
Low  laughed  the  merman. 

In  wrath,  he  slung  the  child  of  foam 
Across  his  back  to  bear  him  home. 
Still  laughed  the  merman. 

And,  as  he  went,  upon  a  mound 
He  tripped,  and  cursed  the  luckless  ground, 
Light  laughed  the  merman. 

His  deer-hound  leaped  in  joyful  play; 
The  master  drove  the  dog  away. 

Clear  laughed  the  merman. 


The  goodwife  came  her  lord  to  greet; 
He  stroked  her  hair  and  called  her  "Sweet." 
Shrill  laughed  the  merman. 

He  drew  his  boots  with  sorry  cheer, 
And  vowed  they  scarce  would  last  the  year. 
Deep  laughed  the  merman. 

"Declare,  O  Sprite  of  azure  sea, 
What  cause  hast  thou  to  laugh  at  me?" 
Harsh  laughed  the  merman. 

"First  row  me  forth  a  league  from  shore 
And  let  me  creep  along  the  oar." 
Soft  laughed  the  merman. 

The  oar  against  the  thole  was  laid; 
The  sea-waif  perched  upon  the  blade. 
Then  laughed  the  merman. 

And  when  he  felt  the  billows  break, 
In  bitter  mood  the  urchin  spake: 
Free  laughed  the  merman. 


"I  laughed:  If  thou  hadst  loosened  me, 
Fair  winds  had  ever  followed  thee." 
Gay  laughed  the  merman. 

"I  laughed:  The  captive's  lot  was  mine; 
A  ban  is  laid  on  thee  and  thine.'* 
Loud  laughed  the  merman. 

"  I  laughed  to  hear  thee  curse  the  mound; 

The  wealth  it  hides  shall  ne'er  be  found." 

Glad  laughed  the  merman. 

"I  laughed  to  see  thee  spurn  away 
The  beast  that  loves  thee,  come  what  may." 
Wild  laughed  the  merman. 

"I  laughed  to  see  thee  stroke  the  head 
Of  her  that  fain  would  have  thee  dead." 
Fierce  laughed  the  merman. 

"I  laugh!    Thy  boots  will  last  full  long, 
For  thou  shalt  die  at  evensong." 


BREATH  OF  WINTER 

DOWN  from  the  North  comes  Uller! 

Down  with  the  northwind,  he, 
Ruddy  and  clear  of  color, 

Storms  on  the  speeding  skee, 
Flocking  the  fowl  before  him; 

Plunge  through  his  drifts  the  deer; 
Sturdy  and  hale  adore  him, 

None  but  the  weaklings  fear. 
Hoarfrost  and  rime  his  breathing; 

Ice-azure  glint  his  eyes; 
Snow-clouds  a-whirl  and  seething 

Show  where  his  pathway  lies. 


Steel  on  the  ice  floe  ringing, 
Rending  the  tasseled  bough, 

Wrecking  with  shout  and  singing — 
God,  yea,  and  Boy  art  thou! 
[66] 


Thine  is  the  snow-bent  rafter, 

Thine  is  the  hooded  byre, 
Thine  are  the  dance  and  laughter, 

Thine  is  the  roaring  fire! 
Bow  till  your  branches  splinter, 

Forests!  he  rules  again. 
Welcome  the  Breath  of  Winter, 

Maker  of  stalwart  men! 


RAGNAROK 

THE   TWILIGHT   OF  THE    GODS 

Ho!  Heimdal  sounds  the  Gjallar-horn: 

The  hosts  of  Hel  rush  forth 
And  Fenris  rages  redly 

From  his  shackles  in  the  North; 
Unleashed  is  Garm,  and  Lok  is  loosed, 

And  freed  is  Giant  Rime; 
The  Rainbow-bridge  is  broken 

By  the  hordes  of  Muspelheim. 
The  wild  Valkyries  ride  the  wind 

With  spear  and  clanging  shield 
Where  all  the  Hates  embattled 

Are  met  on  Vigrid-field ; 
For  there  shall  fall  the  Mighty  Ones 

By  valiant  men  adored, — , 
Great  Odin,  Tyr  the  fearless, 

And  Frey  that  sold  his  sword. 
[68] 


And  Thor  shall  slay  the  dragon 
Whose  breath  shall  be  his  bane. 

The  gods  themselves  shall  perish; 
The  sons  of  the  gods  shall  reign! 

Old  Time  shall  sound  that  boding  horn 

Again  and  yet  again, 
To  rouse  the  warring  passions 

That  swell  the  hearts  of  men. 
Revolt  shall  wake,  and  Anarchy, 

With  all  their  horrid  throng — 
Revenge,  Destruction,  Rapine, 

The  spawn  of  ancient  Wrong, 
With  all  the  hosts  of  slaughter 

That  our  own  sins  must  breed — 
Cold  Hate,  Oppression's  daughter, 

And  Rage,  the  child  of  Greed. 
Then,  though  we  stand  to  battle 

As  men  have  ever  stood, 
Down,  down  shall  crash  our  temples, 

The  Evil  and  the  Good; 
Yea,  all  that  now  we  cherish 

Must  pass — but  not  in  vain. 


The  gods  we  love  shall  perish; 
The  sons  of  the  gods  shall  reign! 

So,  strong  in  faith,  or  weak  in  doubt, 

Or  berserk-mad,  we  range 
Our  spears  in  that  long  battle 

Which  means  not  Death,  but  Change, 
Our  highest  with  our  lowest 

Must  own  the  grim  behest, 
And  Good  still  yield  for  Better, — 

Else  how  should  come  the  Best? 
Yet  if  we  win  our  portion 

How  dare  we  crave  the  whole? 
And  if  we  still  press  forward, 

Why  need  we  know  the  goal? 
But  those  whose  hearts  are  constant 

And  those  whose  souls  are  wise 
Have  said  that  from  our  ashes 

A  nobler  race  shall  rise 
From  shards  of  shattered  altars 

To  rear  the  Perfect  Fane. 
Our  little  gods  must  perish 

That  God  Himself  shall  reign! 

[70] 


TO  SIR  THOMAS  MALLORY 

WELL  met,  Sir  Thomas!  guide  and  comrade  true 
In  many  brave  adventures.     Slow,  God  wot, 
Have  dragged  the  years  since  last  in  Camelot 
By  Arthur's  hall  the  bridle  rein  we  drew. 
Of  Bedivere, — of  Bors  what  tidings  new? 
What  gallant  tale  is  told  of  Launcelot, 
The  courteous  knight?     Old   friend,  hast  thou 

forgot 

How  rang  the  walls  when  round  the  table  flew 
That  biting  lay  on  Cornwall's  coward  King 
Of  blithe  Sir  Dinadan?     With  snowy  crest 
And  stainless  shield,  what  young  knight  fares 

upon 

The  charmed  road  of  high  adventuring? 
Alone,  I  ride  a  long  and  weary  quest. 
Oh,  bid  them  wait  for  me  in  Avalon! 


KING  ARTHUR  AND  THE  HALF-MAN 

THE  summer  day  was  long  and  hot; 
King  Arthur  rade  from  Camelot, 

And  worn  with  court-craft,  sought  repose 
Among  the  groves  where  Ivel  flows. 

There,  whiles  he  lay  in  shadows  dim, 
A  wondrous  sight  appeared  to  him. 

A  shadow  drifted  toward  the  king — 
A  clouded,  human-seeming  thing, 

A  futile,  fleeting,  feeble  shape 
With  listless  arms  and  mouth  agape, 

Devoid  of  purpose,  force  or  will — 
The  foolish  half-man,  Keudawd  Pwyll, 

That  quavered  out  in  plaintive  key: 
"Great  king,  arise,  and  strive  with  me!" 

[72] 


Loud  laughed  the  champion,  "Ho!  ho!  ho! 
Shall  Arthur  strive  with  such  a  foe?" 

The  form  that  seemed  of  vapor  spun 
Waxed  huge  and  black  against  the  sun, 

Of  goodly  girth  and  ample  height, 
A  burly  carl  of  brawn  and  might 

That  voiced  a  challenge  bold  and  free: 
"Arise,  0  man,  and  strive  with  me  I'* 

Still  paltered  Arthur.     "Nay!"  he  said. 
"What  need  of  strife?     My  hardihead 

"Is  proved  and  known;   and  peace  is  best 
In  summer's  glow.     So  let  me  rest!" 

Gigantic  swelled  that  gruesome  form, 
His  head  a  cliff,  his  brows  a  storm; 

All  ruth,  all  guile  he  cast  away; 

He  spurned  the  monarch  where  he  lay 

[73] 


And  bellowed  forth  in  evil  glee: 

"Thou  fool!     Arise,  and  strive  with  me!" 

Then  Arthur  rose  for  very  shame. 
He  grappled,  strove,  and  overcame; 

But  deep  it  made  his  heart  to  groan 
Before  that  wight  was  overthrown; 

And  sore  he  taxed  his  vaunted  strength 
Before  the  giant  lay  his  length! 

So  panted  Arthur:  "Aye!  forsooth, 

He  called  me  'Poor — and  spake  the  truth. 

"Yea,  'fool!'  to  scorn  a  feeble  foe 
While  false  indulgence  made  him  grow!" 

Boast  not  thy  strength.     Make  no  delay. 
That  foeman  waxes  day  by  day. 

Strike  swift!  let  cravens  flinch  or  flee 
Jf  Half-Man  Habit  challenge  thee! 
[74] 


THE  PERFECT  MARRIAGE 

A  POTENT  fairy  lived  in  Arthur's  day, 

Her  name  Trinali,  beautiful  and  wise, 
Who  vied  with  Merlin.     No  divided  sway 

Compelling  sprites  of  waters,  hills,  and  skies 
Would  either  brook;  and  each  in  anger  swore 

The  necromantic  oath  that  none  may  break 
To  change  by  spells  the  form  the  other  wore. 

By  chance  they  met  beside  the  Haunted  Lake, 
And  as  they  met  they  loved,  though  bound  they 
were 

To  war  in  wizardry.     What  then? — The  elf 
Trinali  waved  her  wand  and  made  him,  her; 

While  Merlin  changed  Trinali  to  himself! 
"How  perfect  is  our  marriage!"  laughed  the  two; 
"For  you  are  I,  Beloved;   I  am  you!" 


I  75 


THE   KNIGHTING  OF  GALIEN 

"HITHER!  with  hauberk  and  shield,  I  say! 

Arm  me  and  bid  me  go! 
Ringing  his  bridle,  my  gallant  gray 
Stamps  in  the  court  below. 

"Bless  me  and  helm  me,  O  mother  mine! 

Now  that  I  ride  for  fame, 
Tell  me  I  come  of  a  noble  line; 

Tell  me  my  father's  name!" 

"Go,  if  it  must  be,  thou  heart  of  fire! 

(Guard  thee  from  Death  and  Sin!) 
Carry  this  ring  to  thy  warlike  sire, 

Olivere,  Paladin! 

"Scarred  in  the  brunt  of  a  hundred  fights, 

Fearless  he  rides  and  free, 
Brother-in-arms  to  the  chief  of  knights, 

Roland  of  Brittany." 

[76] 


Lightly  he  leaped  to  the  carven  selle; 

Proudly  his  charger  trode; 
Clattering  up  from  the  stony  dell 

Out  through  the  world  he  rode. 


From  Roncesval,  o'er  vale  and  mound 

A  solemn  blare  of  martial  sound 

That  thrilled  the  air  and  shook  the  ground 

Upon  the  breeze  was  borne. 
The  mountains  groaned  in  wrath  and  dole; 
The  forest  quivered,  bough  and  bole, 
When  Roland  poured  his  warrior  soul 

Through  Olifant,  his  horn. 

Fast  rode  the  King  of  many  years; 
And  fast  the  iron-armored  Peers 
And  all  the  host  of  pennoned  spears 

Athirst  for  vengeance,  flew 
Through  dark  defile  and  rugged  glade, 
Nor  spared  the  rowel  as  they  rade; 
But  swifter  Galien  spurred  to  aid 

The  sire  he  never  knew. 

[77] 


Yet,  ere  the  vale  his  steed  might  gain, 
The  first  and  last  of  Roland's  train, 
Death's  Harvesters,  on  hills  of  slain 

Had  fallen  in  the  fray. 
With  cloven  helm  and  shattered  sword, 
With  shield  and  armor  hacked  and  gored, 
And  all  their  valiant  blood  outpoured, 

The  stalwart  Barons  lay. 

Upon  a  wave  of  dead  upborne 
Lay  Roland  of  the  sounding  horn 
Defiant  still  in  rigid  scorn, 

With  falchion  poised  to  smite; 
While  one  that  watched  the  noble  clay 
Undaunted,  held  the  foe  at  bay; 
The  lorn  survivor  of  the  fray, 

A  sorely  wounded  knight. 

Straight  to  that  warrior  Galien  flew: 

" Answer!  by  Jesu  dear! 
Where  is  my  father,  thou  liegeman  true,— 

Paladin  Olivere?" 


Eyes  that  were  glazing  awoke  in  joy, 

Gleamed  on  the  token-ring: 
"I  am  thy  father,  my  gallant  boy!1 — 

Cometh  my  Lord,  the  King? 

"Ah! — at  my  heart  is  the  clutch  of  Death.- 
Strong  be  thy  young  right  hand! — 

Hearken  the  charge  of  my  dying  breath! — 
Honor  a  last  command. 

"Fallen  is  Roland!  the  peerless  lord; 

See  where  he  lieth  low. 
Here  is  the  hilt  of  thy  father's  sword; 

There  is  the  paynim  foe!" 

Sadly  he  gazed  on  his  father's  corse; 

Gladly  he  seized  the  sword; 
Madly  he  roweled  his  plunging  horse 

Straight  on  the  heathen  horde. 

Then,  roaring  like  an  iron  sea, 
Bore  down  the  vengeful  chivalry 
Of  Flanders,  France,  and  Burgundy 
Upon  the  host  of  Spain. 

[79] 


The  Saxon  spearmen  cleared  a  space 
For  Richard  of  the  Norman  race; 
And  rose  and  fell  the  crashing  mace 
Of  Ogier,  hight  the  Dane. 

Where-e'er  the  point  of  battle  veered, 
The  King,  with  Oriflamme  upreared, 
The  silver  buckler  of  his  beard 

Across  his  heaving  chest, 
Before  the  foremost  of  his  band 
With  streaming  eye,  but  certain  hand 
Unwearied  drave  the  shearing  brand 

Through  Moslem  shield  and  crest. 

"A  Roland!  Roland!"  rose  and  rang 

The  cry  above  the  martial  clang; 

The  sweeping  falchion  flashed  and  sang, 

The  whistling  arrow  flew; 
But  ever  first  the  foe  among 
Rode  Galien,  silent,  fierce,  and  young, 
While,  darting  like  an  adder's  tongue, 

His  father's  sword  bit  through. 


So 


Gathered  the  knights  in  an  iron  ring. 

Slain  were  the  foe  or  fled. 
Shaken  with  sorrow,  the  mighty  King 

Bowed  him  above  his  dead. 

Twilight  descended  in  gentle  ruth, 

Veiling  a  bleeding  land; 
Strode  through  the  circle  a  wounded  youth, 
Bearing  a  broken  brand. 

Onward,  regardless  of  Prince  or  Peer, 

Never  a  word  he  dealt; 
Down  by  the  body  of  Olivere 

Laying  the  steel,  he  knelt. 

Gently  the  gauntleted  hands  he  crossed 

Over  the  Bane  of  Men: 
"Father!  my  father,  regained  and  lost, 

Take  thou  thy  sword  again! 

"There  is  the  wreck  of  the  sword  he  gave, 

Shattered  on  paynims  fell. 
Roland,  great  Paladin,  from  thy  grave 

Tell  him  I  used  it  well!" 


The  mirk  air  stilled  to  awed  repose, 

And  brave  hearts  thrilled  and  pulses  froze; 

The  hand  of  Roland  slowly  rose, 

Though  stark  in  death  he  lay, 
And  yielded  to  that  youthful  lord, — 
The  son  of  him  his  heart  adored, — 
Durenda  bright,  the  cherished  sword 

That  shore  through  rock  as  clay. 

Then  spoke  the  King!  in  tones  that  pealed 
Like  downright  ax  on  beaten  shield : 
" Kneel,  boy!     Upon  this  stricken  field 

Where  Valor's  self  is  laid, 
I  dub  thee  knight,"  the  Monarch  said; 
"Keep  Honor,  Faith,  and  Hardihead!" 
And,  with  the  hand  of  Roland  dead 

Bestowed  the  accolade. 


[82] 


LANCELOT 

"AND  there  thou  liest,  Lancelot! 

The  bravest  sword  in  Christenesse; 
And  I  must  speak  that  truth,  God  wot 

Thou  wouldst  not  hear  for  shamefacednesse: 

"Unmatcht  thou  wast,  of  strength  or  art, 

In  joyous  joust  or  stricken  field; 
And  yet,  thou  hadst  the  gentlest  heart 

Of  all  that  ever  bare  a  shield. 

"The  goodliest  knight  thou  wast,  withal, 
That  ever  spurred  among  the  presse; 

The  truest  lover  that  in  hall 

E'er  vailed  his  plume  to  Lovelinesse; 

"Heart's  truth! — thou  wast  the  courteoust  knight 

That  ever  rode  on  ladie's  quest; 
But,  toward  thy  foe,  the  sternest  wight 

That  ever  laid  a  lance  in  rest!" 


So  mourned  Sir  Ector,  that  did  bend 
His  noble  brother's  corse  to  see; 

And  so,  alas,  my  friend,  my  friend! 
The  woe  is  mine  to  speak  for  thee. 


[84] 


LEGEND 

BOWLDERS  huge  the  dales  encumber 
Where,  in  necromantic  slumber 

Arthur  lies  with  all  his  peers 
Through  the  long,  long  days  of  summer, 
Through  the  long,  long  nights  of  winter, 

Through  the  hundred,  hundred  years. 

Gray  is  all  the  vale  untrodden, 
Cloud  and  crag  are  gray  and  hodden, 

Gray  the  earth  whence  nothing  grows; 
Gray  the  hue  of  hills  and  rocks  is; 
Nothing  red  is  there  but  foxes, 

Nothing  black  is  there  but  crows. 

Deep  the  cavern:  Twelvescore  bowmen, 

Fivescore  knights  with  tenscore  yeomen 

Sleeping,  hedge  their  sleeping  lord, 

[85] 


Who  reposes,  silken-vested, 
Golden-bearded,  massy-chested, 
Strong  and  silent  as  his  sword. 

Aye,  the  sword;   what  arm  may  guide  it! 
There  it  hangs,  a  horn  beside  it, 

Near  the  cavern's  outer  bounds 
Where  in  dreams  of  greenwood  chases, 
Clean-limbed,  sprawl  in  fancied  races 

Fourteen  packs  of  coupled  hounds. 

When  the  world  is  old  and  weary, 
Loveless,  lawless,  mirthless,  dreary, 

Racked  with  doubt,  by  discord  torn, 
One  shall  come,  in  youth  immortal, 
Who  shall  cross  the  gloomy  portal, 

Draw  the  sword  and  blow  the  horn. 

Broke  shall  be  the  spell;   up-leaping 
Hounds,  fullcry,  shall  rouse  the  sleeping; 

Steed  shall  neigh  and  steel  shall  ring; 
Forth  shall  ride  the  doughty  fighters, 
Hate-subduers,  evil-righters, 

Knights  and  yeomen  round  their  king. 
[86] 


QUEEN  YSEULT'S  BELL 

SIR  TRISTRAM,  riding  over  field  and  fell 

Afar  from  her  he  loved,  in  Lyonesse 
By  strange  adventure  won  a  fairy  bell 

Whose  mellow  magic  drove  all  heaviness 
From  pining  hearts.     The  talisman  he  sent 

To  bright  Yseult,  who,  on  the  Cornish  throne, 
Discrowned,  bewailed  her  lover's  banishment. 

Her  white  hand  shook  the  bell;    it's  charmed  tone 
Assuaged    her    bosom's    grief.     But,    "Ah,"    she 
thought, 

"Would  I  be  glad  while  Tristram  mourns  for  me? 
Shall  he  buy  Love  with  tears,  and  I  pay  naught?" — 

She  rose  and  flung  the  bauble  far  to  sea. 
They  know  not  Love,  that  do  not  love  to  share 
With  those  that  give  them  love,  both  joy  and  care. 


[8? 


OSSIAN'S   RETURN 

STRONG  Ossian  hath  dwelt  in  the  Land  of  the  Fay 
Where  hundreds  of  years  are  as  brief  as  a  day, 
Where  joy  is  the  joy  that  can  never  be  told 
And  youth  is  the  youth  that  shall  never  grow  old— 
Until  he  grows  sick  for  the  strivings  of  men 
And  longs  for  the  green  hills  of  Erin  again. 

"Bring  forth  the  white  steed  that  is  crowned  as  a 

king, 
That    is    swift  on   the   hills   as   the   cool  wind  of 

spring, 

That's  shodden  with  silver  and  bitted  with  gold! 
Farewell,  Princess  Nea,  so  fair  to  behold! 
I  gallop  the  waves  to  the  emerald  shore 
To  hunt  with  the  great-hearted  Finna  once  more!" 

"Farewell  then,  my  husband,  if  sever  we  must! 
Though  Finn  and  his  armies  are  long  of  the  dust, 
[88] 


Goodspeed  to  the  soft-bosomed  isle  of  thy  birth! 
But  set  not  thy  foot  on  its  death-tainted  earth 
Or  vainly  my  night-watching  taper  will  burn, 
For  strong-handed  Ossian  will  never  return." 

He  came.     But,  alas  for  thy  fame,  Innisfail! — 
Could  these  be  the  sons  of  the  conquering  Gael 
That  crowded  around  in  a  wondering  throng? — 
Great  Finn  and  his  kindred  were  fables  in  song; 
The  crosier  had  triumphed;  forgot  was  the  brand; 
The  word  of  Saint  Patrick  was  law  in  the  land. 

But  hark!  to  his  ear  from  a  neighboring  glade 
That  sheltered  a  chapel,  a  clamor  for  aid! 
For  they  that  had  wrought  at  the  lintel  were  thrown 
And  pinioned  to  earth  by  so  weighty  a  stone 
That  vainly  a  score  of  their  fellows  might  strive 
To  heave  up  the  burden  and  save  them  alive. 

Strong  Ossian  put  spur  to  the  flank  of  the  steed. 
Down-reaching,  he  lifted  the  stone  like  a  reed 
And  hurled  it  the  length  of  a  towering  mast; 
But  rent  by  the  strain  of  that  valorous  cast 


Were  gem-studded  saddle  and  gold-fretted  girth. 
The  hero  lay  prone  on  the  death-giving  earth. 

The  years  that  had  passed  in  the  Land  of  the  Fay 
Came  flocking  like  vultures  to  burden  his  clay. 
The  golden  locks  faded  to  silvery  white, 
And  wasted  his  sinews  and  darkened  his  sight 
As  feebly  he  chanted  with  faltering  breath 
Farewell  to  green  Erin  and  welcome  to  Death. 

"Hail,  true-hearted  heroes  of  whom  I  was  one! 
O  Finn  of  the  Legions,  make  room  for  thy  son! 
Though  Death  crowns  my  doing,  'tis  little  I  care, 
For  well  do  I  know  in  the  high  minds  ye  bear 
That  moment  of  effort  for  men  will  outweigh 
My  ages  of  ease  in  the  Land  of  the  Fay!" 


[90] 


GAWAINE'S  CHOICE 

THROUGH  Arroy  Forest  rode  one  Summer  day 

Three  knights  of  Arthur's  Court — Uwaine  the 

young, 
Marhaus  the  grave,  and  Gawaine,  light  and  gay; 

And  there  beside  a  spring  with  boughs  o'erhung, 
They  saw  three  ladies  bright,  who  bade  them  take, 

Each  knight,  his  damosel  to  guide  him  where 
Adventures    were.       "Then    I" — 'Twas    Uwaine 
spake — 

"For  wisdom  choose  the  dame  with  silver  hair." 
"The  second  dame,  for  that  her  years  are  mine," 

Grave  Marhaus  said,  "with  me  shall  ride  the 

quest." 
And  Gawaine  laughed,  "The  maid  of  youth  divine 

With  me  shall  fare  because — I  like  her  best!" 
Alack!  there  fails  a  moral  to  the  song; 
But  was  the  careless  Gawaine  wholly  wrong? 


THE  BLACK  DOUGLAS 

"BusK  ye,  my  merry  men  all 

For  the  forest  and  fell! 
Dale  of  the  Douglas  and  hall 

Of  his  fathers,  farewell ! 

"Raise  the  portcullis  in  ah; 

O'er  the  moat  drop  the  span. 
Southrons,  come  take  if  ye  dare— 

And  then  keep  if  ye  can! 

"Cold  is  the  comfort  we  yield 

To  the  tyrannous  horde; 
Here  shall  they  sleep  on  the  shield 

With    a  clutch  on  the  sword. 

"Hard  though  the  couch  of  our  foes 

In  my  Castle  of  Dread, 
Soft  is  the  bracken  that  grows 

In  the  woodlands  of  Jed; 

[92] 


"Purer  the  heavenly  arc 
Than  the  reek  of  the  house; 

Sweeter  the  song  of  the  lark 
Than  the  squeak  of  the  mouse. 

"There  in  the  forested  lands 
Shall  we  'stablish  our  steads — 

Thank  God  who  gave  us  gude  hands 
For  the  keep  of  our  heads! 

"Come  from  the  croft  and  the  field, 
From  the  holm  and  the  weir! 

Troop  with  the  ax  and  the  shield, 
With  the  bowr  and  the  spear! 

"Buckle  the  scabbardless  brand 

In  a  war  without  truce! 
Strike!  for  the  rule  of  your  land 

And  the  right  of  the  Bruce!" 


93] 


WAR 

GOD  rears  the  sword. 

With  justice,  not  in  vengeance,  smites  the  Lord. 

Whence  came  the  steel?    What  forges  wrought  the 

brand? 
Enough.     It  suits  His  hand. 

Men  die.     Realms,  nations,  races  rise  sublime 
To  fall,  forgot  of  men,  in  that  grand  scheme — • 
The  Mind's  despair,  the  Soul's  prophetic  dream, 

The  endless  toil  of  Him  Who  knows  not  Time. 

Why  falls  the  blow?     That  peoples  may  be  free 
In  deed  and  thought;    to  ward  the  stroke  of  Cain 
That  wounds  the  slayer  deeper  than  the  slain; 

To  cure  some  cankered  wrong  we  cannot  see. 

God  rears  the  sword. 

In  mercy,  not  in  anger,  smites  the  Lord. 

[94] 


THE  SEA-PEAS 

A    LEGEND    OF    SUFFOLK    IN    1555 

IN  Red  Queen  Mary's  woeful  reign 

A  year-long  curse  oppressed  the  earth; 

No  harvest  gladdened  croft  or  plain, 
And  all  was  famine,  fear,  and  dearth. 

The  cattle  died  in  field  and  stall, 

The  children  starved  in  house  and  street; 
Right  glad  were  dainty  mouths  to  call 

The  acorn's  bitter  provend  sweet. 

Young  Matthew  Fulke  of  Ald'bro  Town 

Arose  from  out  a  fevered  bed: 
"True  Suffolk  hearts,  be  not  cast  down, 

For  God  hath  heard  your  cry,"  he  said. 

"Since  field  and  forest  yield  no  more, 
And  all  the  garnered  grain  is  spent, 

[95] 


Come  forth  along  the  naked  shore 
And  take  what  fruits  the  Lord  hath  sent!" 

Where  Aide,  the  river,  meets  the  sea 
There  lies  a  barren,  pebbled  reach 

Betwixt  The  Vere  and  Slaughden  Quay — 
The  arid  miles  of  Orford  Beach; 

Along  that  waste,  in  want  and  heat, 

They  trudged  behind  him,  young  and  old; 

The  shingle  crunched  beneath  their  feet, 
In  rustling  waves  the  beach-grass  rolled. 

And  long  they  knew  no  other  sight 
Than  arch  of  sky  and  toss  of  foam, 

With  here  and  there  an  arrowed  flight 
Of  wind-blown  swallows  faring  home. 

But  now  upon  the  pebbles  gray 
A  tangled  wealth  of  vines  was  seen 

With  dancing  blossoms,  fresh  and  gay, 
And  ripened  pods  enmeshed  in  green. 

[96] 


Where  never  plow  had  stirred  the  sand, 

By  mortal  labor  never  sown, 
The  sea-peas  grew  on  every  hand — 

A  Providence  in  sterile  stone. 

And  so  the  famine's  march  was  stayed. 

But  men  forget  the  Long  Ago; 
The  forest  doves  alone  invade 

The  wastes  where  still  the  sea-peas  grow. 

But,  "Ah!"  you  say,  so  worldly-wise, 
"Perchance  upon  that  stony  shore, 

Regarded  not  by  careless  eyes, 

The  sea-peas  grew  long  years  before!" 

Aye,  true.    'Twas  only  sore  distress 
That  made  the  hungered  seek  and  find; 

The  miracle  was  there,  no  less, 
As  others  are — but  men  are  blind. 


97 


THE  MOTHER 

THIS  legend,  grim  and  wild  yet  rich  in  truth, 

Was  framed  in  Cordova  in  Gothic  days: 
By  Guadalquivir's  water  dwelt  a  youth 

Who  loved  a  woman  fair  beyond  all  praise^ 
Yet  deeply  foul,  a  Lamia  in  disguise, 

To  win  whose  poisoned  kiss  he  periled  all — 
His  wealth,  his  faith,  whatever  she  might  prize 

That  would  he  give  and  vow  the  gift  too  small. 
One  day  in  guileful  hate  she  cried,  "  Alack, 

Thy  mother  grieves  me;     slay  her;    bring  me 

straight 
Her  heart!" — He  did  her  will;  and,  hasting  back, 

Fell  headlong  down  before  the  witch's  gate. 
How  sweetly  spake  unto  that  erring  one 
The  Mother's  heart:  "Oh,  art  thou  hurt,  my  son?" 


THE  QUEST 

A    LITHUANIAN   FOLK-SONG 

SWEET  was  the  song  that  the  Princess  trolled 

To  the  Youth  as  he  rode  away: 
"  Bring  me  the  Flower  of  the  Winter  Cold 

And  the  Snow  of  a  Summer  Day!" 

Afar  he  fared  and  his  heart  was  bold — 

He  feared  not  flood  nor  fray, 
Yet  he  found  not  the  Flower  of  the  Winter  Cold 

Nor  the  Snow  of  a  Summer  Day. 

The  night  was  clear  and  the  white  moon  rolled 

When  under  the  oak  he  lay 
And  dreamed  of  the  Flower  of  the  Winter  Cold 

And  the  Snow  of  a  Summer  Day. 

There  came  a  Bird  with  a  crest  of  gold 
And  caroled  a  roundelay, 

[99] 


And  all  of  the  Flower  of  the  Winter  Cold 
And  the  Snow  of  a  Summer  Day: 

"I  see  the  fir  on  the  frosty  wold, 
The  foam  on  the  waves  at  play, — 

And  there  is  the  Flower  of  the  Winter  Cold 
And  the  Snow  of  a  Summer  Day!" 

He  took  of  the  plume  of  the  fir  tree  old 

And  the  foam  of  the  billow  gray, 
And  brought  her  the  Flower  of  the  Winter  Cold 

And  the  Snow  of  a  Summer  Day. 


[100] 


STEFAN  OF  MOLDAVIA 

An  incident  in  the  career  of  the  Rumanian  hero, 
Stefan  the  Great,  prince  of  Moldavia,  who  in  the  fifteenth 
century  held  the  gates  of  the  Balkans  against  the  Turks. 
It  was  said  of  him  that  he  reigned  forty  years,  won  forty 
victories,  and  built  forty  churches  to  commemorate 
them. 

BENEATH  the  castle's  guarded  wall 
He  draws  the  rein;   he  bares  his  face. 

Above  the  turret  sounds  his  call, 
Against  the  portal  clangs  his  mace: 

"Ho!     Mother,  bid  them  ope  the  gate! 

My  brand  is  scattered  far  and  wide; 
And  hard  behind,  in  eager  hate, 

The  Turkish  janizaries  ride!" 

The  lady  answers  proud  and  clear: 

"Nay,  stranger!     Doff  that  borrowed  guise, 
[101] 


And  tell  the  foes  that  sent  thee  here 
Thou  canst  not  cheat  a  mother's  eyes. 

"These  gates  unbar  for  one  alone! 

Then  spare  thy  strength  and  save  thy  breath. 
My  Stefan,  born  to  mount  a  throne, 

Returns  in  triumph,  or  in  death!" 

He  bows  his  head;   he  draws  the  steel; 

He  casts  away  both  sheath  and  shield. 
His  stallion  feels  the  roweled  heel. 

He  seeks  again  the  doubtful  field. 


The  day  declines;   the  twilight  falls; 

And  half  in  light  and  half  in  shade 
The  watch  upon  the  castle  walls 

Descries  a  gallant  cavalcade. 

Its  leader  bids  the  bugles  ring; 

He  lifts  his  voice  above  the  din: 
"Unbar  the  portal  for  your  king 

And  let  his  liegemen  enter  in! 

[102] 


"Their  swords  have  turned  the  tyrant  foe 
(Be  thanks  to  God,  the  Great  and  Just!); 

And  see!  behind  us,  humbled  low, 
The  crescent  banners  trail  in  dust!" 

The  lady  views  the  noble  train; 

She  speaks  again  in  joy  and  pride: 
"What!  shall  your  king  command  in  vain? 

Make  haste  and  fling  the  portal  wide! 

"And  spread  the  feast;   and  tend  the  harms 
Of  these  that  have  both  fought  and  won. 

And  let  me  clasp  him  in  my  arms, 
For  now  in  truth  returns  my  son!" 


103 


THE  JUDGMENT  OF   FLOWERS 

A    BULGARIAN    LEGEND 

BEFORE  the  gate  that  guards  the  sacred  bovver 
Where  blossoms,  lost  to  earth,  again  shall  blow, 

The  Water-Lily,  holy,  vestal  flower, 

Whose  golden  heart  is  held  in  cups  of  snow, 

Sits,  judging  souls  of  blossoms,  fragrant-leaved. 

To  each  she  says,  "  Beloved  sister  mine, 
Declare  in  truth  what  good  thou  hast  achieved 

With  all  the  wealth  of  sweetness  that  was  thine.' 

The  Rose  avows,  "My  tale  is  quickly  done. 

Still,  though  I  lay  half-hid  beneath  a  tress 
Of  silken  hair,  I  trust  I  gladdened  one 

Who  gladdens  all  that  know  her  loveliness." 

"And  I?     My  day  I  lived  apart  from  men," 
The  tender  Wood  Anemone  replies. 


"And  yet  perchance  within  my  mossy  glen 
I  cheered  the  vagrant  bees  and  butterflies." 

An  Alpine  flower,  the  deep  Forget-me-not 

Whose    turquoise    gemmed    the    never-trodden 
snow, 

Her  trustful  answer  breathes:  "God  cast  my  lot 
On  stainless  heights.    From  dawn  to  sunset  glow 

"I  watched  the  wondrous  sky.     The  solemn  song 
Of  winds  by  night  I  heard,  the  distant  roar 

Of  storms  beneath.    Remote  from  strife  and  wrong, 
I  lived,  I  bloomed,  I  loved — and  nothing  more." 

Then  speaks  the  Lily:  "Enter,  sisters  all, 
With  equal  right,  the  Garden  of  the  Throne! 

For  God  asks  naught  but  service,  great  or  small; 
And  some  may  serve  Him  best  by  love  alone." 


I  105 


COSSACKS  OF  THE  DON 

AN    OLD   RUSSIAN   WAR   SONG 

WHERE  arid  grasses  grew  not 
The  steppe  was  brown  and  bare; 

The  clear-eyed  falcon  flew  not, 
Nor  fled  the  small  white  hare. 

Five  hundred  men  we  counted; 

A  stallion  each  bestrode; 
They  saw  us  as  we  mounted, 

But  not  the  while  we  rode. 

Two  thousand  horse  hoofs  drumming 

The  deserts  of  the  Don, 
A  storm  of  lances  coming, 

A  cloud — and  we  are  gone! 

"Ho!  Guider  of  the  Slaughter 

That  ridest  in  the  van; 
We  ford  the  Volga-water! 

We  strike  the  Tartar  Khan!" 
f  106] 


THE  ROBBER 

AN   ANCIENT   RUSSIAN    BALLAD 

THEY  seized  the  Thief  on  the  Plains  of  Yar 
And  haled  him,  bound,  to  the  Bearded  Tsar, 
Who  bade  a  funeral  bell  be  tolled 
And  spake  a  word  to  that  Robber  bold: 
"0  thou  that  much  I  have  longed  to  see, 
What  comrades  rode  on  the  raid  with  thee?" 

Then  loud  as  winds  o'er  the  Plains  of  Yar 

He  flung  his  brag  to  the  Bearded  Tsar: 

"My  first  good  friend  was  the  moonless  night; 

My  second  friend  was  a  saber  bright; 

My  third,  a  steed  with  a  mane  of  snow; 

My  fourth,  the  arch  of  a  bended  bow; 

And,  sharp  and  swift  from  the  bowstring  freed, 

My  messenger  was  a  feathered  reed!" 

The  Tsar  smiled  grim  on  the  Robber  Chief 
And  spake  once  more  to  the  haughty  Thief: 


"Right  well  thou  knowest  thy  trade  to  ply — 

To  steal,  and  bandy  the  shrewd  reply; 

And  thou  shalt  have,  by  the  saints  that  live!- 

A  guerdon  such  as  a  Tsar  should  give — 

A  palace  built  on  the  Plains  of  Yar 

With  two  tall  posts  and  a  tough  cross  bar!" 


1 08 


THE  MOURNERS 

A    RUSSIAN   FOLK-SONG 

A  NOBLE  youth  lies  dead  upon  the  plain; 

Above  his  form,  their  heavy  braids  undone, 
His  mother  old,  his  gentle  sisters  twain, 

And  fair  young  bride  bewail  their  darling  one. 

The  mother's  tears  flow  like  the  river's  tide; 

Like  April  torrents  mourn  the  sisters  two; 
Like  dew  in  August  weeps  the  youthful  bride; — 

The  sun  will  rise  and  gather  up  the  dew. 


109 


MIKULA  THE   PEASANT 

A    RUSSIAN    APOLOGUE 

DOMINION  behind  him,  Adventure  before, 
Away  with  the  dawning  rode  brave  Svegator, 
The  wind  in  the  tangle  of  raven-hued  curls 
That  flowed  from  a  helmet  incrusted  with  pearls. 
The  crest  of  the  hero  was  proud  in  the  sky; 
Beneath  his  arched  instep  a  sparrow  could  fly; 
In  gold  slept  the  scimitar  none  else  might  hold, 
His  mantle  of  sables  was  buckled  with  gold. 

He  rode  through  the  morning,  he  rode  through  the 

night, 

But  where  was  the  labor  to  challenge  the  might, 
The  vigor,  the  ardor  that  surged  in  his  veins 
As  fiercely  as  Volga  when  swollen  with  rains? 
"Oh,  would  that  a  ring  in  the  heavens  were  set! — 
I'd  wrench  it  till  mountains  and  firmament  met! 
[no] 


Oh,  would  that  a  pillar  were  fast  in  the  sands! — 
I'd  grasp  it  and  brandish  the  world  in  my  hands!" 

There  galloped  his  way  in  a  tumult  of  speed 
A  mountainous  wight  on  a  thundering  steed; 
Uncouth  were  his  garments,  his  features  were 

fair, 

Like  haymows  in  harst  were  his  masses  of  hair, 
His  muscles  were  iron,  his  eyes  blue  and  mild — 
The  strength  of  a  giant,  the  heart  of  a  child. 
Two  pouches  of  weight  on  his  shoulders  he  bore; 
They  fell  in  the  pathway  of  brave  Svegator. 

"Fair  lord,"  begged  the  stranger,  "thou  valiant 

voivode, 

Pray,  lift  me  the  burden  that  cumbers  thy  road." 
The  hero  dismounted,  he  stooped  to  the  plain, 
He  labored,  he  struggled,  he  wrestled  amain, 
He  tugged  at  the  pouches,  he  panted  and  strained 
Till  down  his  pale  temples  the  ruddy  drops  rained, 
But  vain  were   his   strivings.      Then  wearied  he 

cried 
To  him  that  sat  motionless,  wondering-eyed, 

[mi 


"O  thou  that  bestridest  the  shaggy-maned  horse, 
What  weight  in  thy  pouches  defieth  my  force?" 
Unmoved,  spoke  the  wayfarer,  stolid  and  slow, 
"The  weight  of  the  world, — of  its  want  and  its 

woe." 

"Thy  name?"  asked  the  hero,  "O  marvelous  one!" 
"Men  call  me  Mikula  the  Villager's  son," 
Full  humbly  he  answered.    He  bent  from  his  beast, 
Uplifted  the  burden  and  rode  to  the  East. 

The  sunlight  behind  him,  the  shadow  before, 
Away  to  the  Westward  rode  brave  Svegator. 
"He  dreams  not,"  he  murmured,  "his  might  and 

its  worth 

Who  bears  on  his  shoulders  the  burden  of  Earth. 
Good  hap  that  the  force  of  those  masterful  arms 
Is  bound  to  the  labor  of  forests  and  farms, 
For,  woe  to  the  Princes,  when,  patient  so  long, 
Mikula  the  Peasant  shall  know  he  is  strong!" 


[112 


THE  REVOLUTIONIST 

FROM  A  RUSSIAN  PROSE  POEM  OF  TURGENEV 

I  SAW  a  spacious  house.     O'erhung  with  pall, 
A  narrow  doorway  pierced  the  somber  wall. 
Within  was  chill,  impenetrable  shade; 
Without  there  stood  a  maid — a  Russian  maid, 
To  whom  the  icy  dark  sent  forth  a  slow 
And  hollow-sounding  Voice: 

"And  dost  thou  know, 

When  thou  hast  entered  what  awaits  thee  here?" 
She  answered,  "Yes.     I  know,  and  do  not  fear." 
"Cold,  hunger,  hatred,  Slander's  blighting  breath," 
The  Voice  still  chanted,  "suffering — and  Death?" 
"I  know,"  she  said. 

"Undaunted,  wilt  thou  dare 
The  sneers  of  kindred?     Art  thou  steeled  to  bear 
From  those  whom  most  thou  lovest,   spite,   and 

scorn?" 
"Though  Love  be  paid  with  Hate,  shall  that  be 

borne," 

[113] 


She  answered. 

"Think!     Thy  doom  may  be  to  die 
By  thine  own  hand,  with  none  to  fathom  why, 
Unthanked,  unhonored,  desolate,  alone, 
Thy  grave  unmarked,  thy  toil,  thy  love  unknown, 
And  none  in  days  to  come  shall  speak  thy  name." 
She  said,  "I  ask  no  pity,  thanks,  or  fame.'* 
"Art  thou  prepared  for  crime?" 

She  bowed  her  head: 
"Yes,  crime,  if  that  shall  need,"  the  maiden  said. 

Now  paused  the  Voice  before  it  asked  anew: 
"But  knowest  thou  that  all  thou  boldest  true 
Thy  soul  may  yet  deny  in  bitter  pain 
So  thou  shalt  deem  thy  sacrifice  in  vain?" 
"E'en  this  I  know,"  she  said;   "and  yet  again 
I  pray  thee,  let  me  enter." 

"Enter  then!" 

That  hollow  Voice  replied.     She  passed  the  door. 
A  sable  curtain  fell — and  nothing  more 

"A  fool!"   snarled   some  one,    gnashing.     Like  a 

prayer, 
"A  saint!"  a  whispered  answer  thrilled  the  air. 


"THERE  IS  NO  TSAR" 

THE  Lord  spake  to  Pharaoh:   "Let  my  people  go." 

And  still  the  fetters  clanked,  the  lash  was  plied. 

The  love  of  God  is  boundless,  the  wrath  of  God  is 

slow; 

But   Pharaoh's   heart   was  hard — and   Pharaoh 
died. 

The  Lord  spake  to  Caesar:  "Set  my  children  free." 
The  Eagle's  shadow  darkened  land  and  foam 

Till  rolled  the  Gothic  billows,  an  iron-crested  sea, 
And  ruin  whelmed  the  ancient  walls  of  Rome. 

The  Lord  spake  to  Russia.    His  thunders  filled  the 

skies. 

But  deaf  are  tyrants  ever.      Wide  and  far 
At  last,  in  chainless  anger  the  maddened  millions 

rise, 

And  round  the  world  resounds,  "There  is  no 
Tsar!" 

[US! 


THE  JUDGMENT  OF  KAISER  JOSEF 

"GoD  made  me  Man  before  men  made  me  King; 

To  be  a  Man  remains  the  higher  thing." 

Thus  spoke  good  Kaiser  Josef,  honored  still 

In  Austria  for  deeds  of  kindly  will, 

The  simple  tales  of  which,  remembered  well, 

The  Viennese,  who  loved  him,  love  to  tell. 

One  summer  day  the  Kaiser  rode  alone 

From  court  and  park  to  cheerless  walls  of  stone — 

The  prison  of  the  citadel,  to  speak 

Brave  words  to  raise  the  low,  to  cheer  the  weak. 

He  turned  to  one,  dark-browed  and  ferret-eyed: 

"My    friend,    what    brought    you    here?"     "Oh, 

Kaiser,"  cried 

The  culprit,  "I  am  guiltless  of  all  wrong!" 
"So?"  murmured  Josef.    Then  the  fettered  throng 
Caught  up  the  word,  and  each,  on  bended  knee, 
Cried,  "I  am  guiltless,  Kaiser!     Set  me  free!" — • 


Yes,  all  save  one,  who,  head  and  shoulders  bowed, 
Stood  wan  and  still  beyond  the  noisy  crowd. 
On  him  the  Kaiser  gazed:  "And  you,"  he  said, 
"Are  guiltless,  too?"    The  prisoner  raised  his  head 
And  groaned  in  grief  and  shame  beyond  control, 
"No,  Sire;    my  children  hungered — and  I  stole, 
God  pardon  me!"     The  Kaiser's  gentle  hand 
Caressed  the  drooping  form.     "I  understand," 
He  whispered;   "May  God  pardon  all."- 
"Ho,  Guard!" — The  Emperor's  summons  thrilled 

the  hall; — 

"We'll  send  this  naughty  fellow  home  again 
For  fear  he  should  corrupt  these  'guiltless'  men!" 


BAYARD 


KING  may  plot  and  Cardinal  scheme, 

Burghers  traffic  for  golden  pelf, 
Lost  to  duty  the  folk  may  seem- 

None  for  others  and  each  for  self; 
But,  oh!  the  change  when  the  trumpets  ring 

And  the  pennon  shakes  on  the  lifted  lance, 
Priest  and  parliament,  count  and  king, 

Lords  and  people  are  all  for  France! 
Honor  wakes  in  the  hearts  of  men; 

Knights  and  paladins  mount  and  ride, 
For  Bayard  is  in  the  saddle  again, 

The  golden  spur  in  the  dappled  side. 

Faithful  friend,  gallant  foe, 

Fearless  heart,  strength  of  ten, 
Forthright  tongue,  downright  blow  — 

Bayard  is  in  the  saddle  again. 
[  n8l 


Thrones  may  totter  and  crowns  may  fall; 

Fortune  favor,  or  ill  mischance; 
Buoyant,  eager,  and  brave  through  all 

Beats,  undaunted,  the  heart  of  France. 
Swift  from  the  scabbard,  her  sword-blade  keen 

Leaps  at  the  challenge  of  life  or  death; 
All  that's  petty  or  base  or  mean 

Shrivels  to  naught  in  the  cannon's  breath. 
Honor  marshals  the  vanward,  when 

Toss  her  battleflags  far  and  wide, 
For  Bayard  is  in  the  saddle  again, 

The  golden  spur  in  the  charger's  side. 

Faithful  friend,  gallant  foe, 

Fearless  heart,  strength  of  ten, 
Forthright  tongue,  downright  blow — 

Bayard  is  in  the  saddle  again. 


[119] 


THE  KING'S  CHAMPION 

BENEATH  a  pall  of  cloth  of  gold 

They  gave  him  scepter,  orb,  and  ring; 

As  one  of  more  than  earthly  mold 

They  crowned  his  brow,  they  called  him  "King!" 

Then,  up  the  rich  and  splendid  line 

Where  princely  circlets  flashed  and  glowed, 

To  prove  his  master's  right  divine 
The  Champion,  full  armored,  rode. 

The  Champion,  whose  ancient  name 
Was  once  the  theme  of  song  and  tale, 

The  Champion!  whose  puny  frame 
Could  hardly  bear  the  antique  mail; 

Whose  arm,  untrained  in  any  art, 

His  fathers'  sword  might  scarcely  raise, 

Yet  must  he  mock  the  knightly  part 
His  fathers  played  in  ruder  days. 
[120] 


While  trumpets  blew  a  silver  blast 
He  gazed  around  with  haughty  eye; 

Upon  the  pave  a  glove  he  cast 

And  piped  his  challenge,  weak  and  high: 

"What  traitor  doubts  our  Monarch's  right 

To  reign  ?    My  gauntlet  here  I  fling 
And  dare  the  knave  to  mortal  fight 

With  sword  and  lance! — Long  live  the  King!" 

Awed  silence  held  the  throng  a  span, 
When,  straight  as  spear  or  arrow-shaft, 

Out  stepped  a  Man,  a  stalwart  Man, 

Who  spake  no  word,  but  looked — and  laughed! 

He  laughed  with  deep,  full-throated  zest 
The  laugh  of  fresh,  glad-humored  mirth 

Of  one  who  sees  the  gorgeous  jest 

Of  pride  of  rank  and  wealth  and  birth. 

And  as  he  laughed  all  eyes  were  cleared; 

Rich  laughter  rolled  from  side  to  side; 
In  gales  of  laughter  disappeared 

The  silk  and  gold  of  pomp  and  pride, 

[121] 


Loud  laughed  the  lords  of  high  renown; 

The  princes  laughed  as  loud  as  they; 
They  laughed  their  painted  'scutcheons  down, 

The  earls  and  barons  laughed  away 

Their  orders,  crests,  and  jeweled  swords. 

And  last,  the  king  laughed  too!    And  then 
There  were  no  princes,  peers,  and  lords 

Or  dukes  or  kings — but  only  Men! 


[122] 


OF  HIS  OWN  COUNTRY 


QUIVIRA 

FRANCISCO  CORONADO  rode  forth  with  all  his 

train, 
Eight  hundred  savage  bowmen,  three  hundred 

spears  of  Spain, 

To  seek  the  desert's  glory  whereof  the  tale  is  told — 
The  City  of  Quivira,  whose  walls  are  rich  with  gold. 

Oh,  gay  they  rode  with  plume  on  crest  and  gilded 

spur  at  heel, 

With  gonfalon  of  Aragon  and  banner  of  Castile; 
While    High    Emprise    and    Joyous    Youth,    twin 

marshals  of  the  throng, 
Awoke    Sonera's   mountain    peaks   with    trumpet 

note  and  song. 

Beside  that  brilliant  army,  beloved  by  serf  and 

lord, 
There  walked  a  gallant  soldier,  no  braver  smote 

with  sword, 


Though  naught  of  knightly  harness  his  russet 

gown  revealed; 
The  cross  he  bore  as  weapon,  the  missal  was  his 

shield. 


But   rugged  oaths  were  changed  to  prayers  and 

angry  hearts  grew  tame, 
And   fainting  spirits  waxed  in   faith  where  Fray 

Padilla  came; 
And  brawny  spearmen  bowed  their  heads  to  kiss 

the  helpful  hand 
Of  him  who  spake  the  simple  truth  that  brave  men 

understand. 


What  pen  may  paint  their  daring,  those  doughty 

cavaliers! 
The  cities  of  the  Zuni  were  humbled  by  their 

spears; 

And  Arizona's  barrens  grew  pallid  in  the  glow 
Of   blades   that   won    Granada    and    conquered 

Mexico. 

1 126] 


They  fared  by  lofty  Acoma;  their  rally  call  was  blown 
Where  Colorado  rushes  down  through  God  hewn 

walls    of   stone. 
Then,  north  and  east,  where  deserts  spread  and 

treeless  prairies  rolled, 
That  fairy  city  lured  them  on  with  pinnacles  of  gold. 

On  all  their  weary  marches  to  gain  the  flitting  goal 
They  turned   to  Fray   Padilla  for  aid  of  heart 

and  soul. 
He  salved  the  wounds  that  lance  thrust  and  flinty 

arrow  made, 
He  cheered  the  sick  and  failing,  above  the  dead 

he  prayed. 

Two  thousand  miles  of  war  and  woe  behind  their 

banners  lay, 
And  sadly  fever,  drought,  and  toil  had  lessened  their 

array, 
When  came  a  message  fraught  with  hope  for  all  the 

steadfast  band: 
"Good     tidings     from     the    northward,     friends! 

Quivira  lies  at  hand!" 


How  joyously  they   spurred   them!  how  sadly 

drew  the  rein. 
There  gleamed   no  golden   palace,   there  blazed 

no  jeweled  fane; 
Rude  tents  of  hide  of  bison,  dog-guarded,  met 

their  view — 
A  squalid  Indian  village,  the  lodges  of  the  Sioux! 


Then  Don  Francisco  bowed  his  head.     He  spake 

unto  his  men: 
"Our  search  is  vain,  true  hearts  of  Spain,  now  turn 

we  home  again. 
And  would  to  God  that  I  could  give  that  phantom 

city's  pride 
In   ransom   for  the  gallant  souls  that  here  have 

drooped  and  died!" 


Back,  back  to  Compostela  the  wayworn  hand 
ful  bore; 

But  sturdy  Fray  Padilla  took  up  the  quest  once 
more. 

[  128] 


Hi'.  MMil   .'.fill   loiifrd   lot    <on(|iir.M,   llioujdi   lint    l.y 

i. UK  <•  MI  iword) 

Hr   litiinrd   to  -.how  the   lir.illirn   ilir    p.nlrA.iy    to 
thr  l,oid. 


I'MI     thr.    lir    MiidjMd    llir    Iliuly    lull-,    .itid    p.n  i  Imif. 

drsril    -..md'., 
While    frw    wrir    liny    lli.il     w.dkrd    xviili    Imn    .ind 

\%r.lpoldr-.  .    ill'   ||     li. Mid  . 
Hilt        (  lu'Cllly        tlir       IM.III    .11     .Hill   .,       I  )M<   .IMIJ.M, 

dim  near, 

Like  (itr.il    II-  .m     •    udinj-  (   Ini  .1 1. in':,  w.iy 
.ind   IV. ||. 


VVIicic    Mill    in    silkrn    li.nvf.t-.    flir     |»i  .111  M  MM 

I  (  IV., 

AniMlij'    I  IK     ird   <  )MI     i!    is,    I'.iddl.i   ir.urd    In  .  <  I"  .  . 
Rrnr.itli    Us   '>.i(i'-d   .si), idow   tin-   1 1  d>f  .mm   of    llir 

K.ivv 
In    UMndn     IK  .ml    ill.     r."  -I"  I    "I    l"v'     -'"'I    I"*-"  ' 

,md  l.iw. 

I  IM] 


They  gloried  in  their  brown-robed  priest;  and 
often,  dark  in  thought, 

The  warriors  grouped,  a  silent  ring,  to  hear  the 
word  he  brought, 

While  round  the  kindly  man-at-arms  their  lithe- 
limbed  children  played 

And  shot  their  arrows  at  his  shield  and  rode  his 
guarded  blade. 

When  thrice  the  silver  crescent  had   filled  its 

curving  shell 
The  friar  rose  at  dawning  and  bade  his  flock 

farewell : 
' — And   if  your   brothers   northward   be  cruel, 

even  so, 
My  Master  bids  me  teach  them;    and  dare  I 

answer/  No '?" 

But  where  he  trod  in  quenchless  zeal  the  path  of 

thorns  once  more, 
A  savage  cohort  swept  the  plain  in  paint  and  plume 

of  war. 


Then  Fray  Padilla  spake  to  them  whose  hearts  were 

most  his  own: 
"My  children,  bear  the  tidings  home;   let  me  die 

here  alone." 

He   knelt   upon   the   prairie,   begirt   by  yelling 

Sioux. — 
"Forgive  them,  O  my  Father,  they  know  not 

what  they  do!" 
The  twanging  bowstrings  answered.     Before  his 

eyes,  unrolled 
The  City  of  Quivira  whose  streets  are   paved 

with  gold. 


131 


SUNRISE 

AS   THE    NAVAJO    SEES    IT 

THE  Hero-god,  returned  from  deeds  of  might 
In  underworlds  of  terrors  unrevealed, 

Hangs  high  within  the  gates  of  pillared  white 
On  heaven's  turquoise  wall  his  golden  shield, 


132] 


THE  COLD-WOMAN 

A   NAVAJO    LEGEND   OF   WINTER 

NAYENGEZANI,  Destroyer  of  Wizards, 

Bearing  the  war  club,  the  quiver  and  bow, 

Sang    as    he    strode    througk    the    roar    of    the 

blizzards 
Over  the  road  to  the  Mountain  of  Snow — 

"There  dwells  the  Cold-Woman,  high  on  her  bar 
row, 

Sending  the  Winter  to  fetter  the  land; 
Her  shall  I  slay  with  the  flint-headed  arrow, 

Freeing  my  race  from  her  evil  command!" 

Deserts  he  traversed  through  perils  uncounted, 
Fearless  of  weapons,  regardless  of  spells; 

Threading  the  ice-cumbered  canon,  he  mounted 
Clear  to  the  crag  where  the  Storm-Brewer  dwells. 

[133] 


Wrinkled  and  aged,  unfed,  unbefriended, 
Lacking  the  lodge  fire's  comforting  glow, 

Shivered  the  Cold-Woman,  tempest  attended, 
Shaking  the  robes  of  her  pallet  of  snow. 

Swept  in  a  cloud  through  her  frigid  dominions, 
Vague  in  the  mists  that  enveloped  her  form, 

Snow  buntings  fluttered  on  eddying  pinions — 
Spies  for  the  Winter  and  heralds  of  Storm. 

Loud  spake  the  Hero:  "Thy  harsh  rule  is  ended! 

Cruel  my  errand!    The  Spring  to  restore, 
Ready  to  slay  thee  my  strong  bow  is  bended; 

Men  from  thy  rigors  shall  suffer  no  more!'* 

Tossing  her  tresses,  she  answered  in  sorrow, 
"Loosen  the  arrow  and  slay,  if  thou  wilt, 

Blindly  triumphant,  forgetting  the  morrow! — 
Mine  be  the  triumph  and  thine  be  the  guilt, 

"When  all  the  prairies,  the  forests,  and  mountains 
Parch  in  a  Summer  that  findeth  no  close! 

When  all  the  rivers  and  nourishing  fountains 
Fail  for  the  lack  of  my  bountiful  snows! 

[  134] 


"When  not  a  breath  of  my  blustering  season, 
Health-giving,  freshens  a  pitiless  sky! 

When  those  thou  lovest,  undone  by  thy  treason, 
Thirsting  shall  perish  and  fevered  shall  die!" 

Low  spake  the  Hero,  unnocking  his  arrow: 
"Mine  is  the  folly!    Thou,  Mother,  art  wise. 

Rule  as  thou  wilt  from  thy  snow-shrouded  barrow, 
Sender  of  blessings  that  come  in  disguise!" 

Nayengezani  strode  down  through  the  ranges 
Homeward,  untainted  with  death-doing  wrong, 

Blessing  the  Year  for  its  glorious  changes, 
Weaving  his  thought  in  a  burden  of  song: 

"  Dark  is  the  East  Wind  and  yellow  the  West  Wind ! 

Blue  is  the  South  Wind  and  white  is  the  north! 
Who  hath  the  wisdom  that  knoweth  the  best 
wind — 

Save  the  Creator  Who  sendeth  it  forth!" 


10  [  135 


SIGNS  OF  RAIN 

ZUNI    INDIAN 

THE  circling  swallows  twittered  all  the  morn; 
At  noon  the  bluebirds  called  amid  the  corn; 
At  dusk  the  frogs  with  pipings  filled  the  plain; 
At  night  the  bats,  in  flying,  spoke  of  rain. 

The  sun  went  down  behind  a  misty  veil 
While  red-faced  rose  the  moon;    the  stars  were  pale; 
And  now  a  sweep  of  shadow  rides  the  grain 
And  earth  is  pierced  with  arrow-flights  of  rain. 


THE  STAR-PLANTERS 

THEM  stars!    Oh,  how  often  I've  laid  on  the  prairie 
And  watched  them  go  sweeping  around, 

My  broncho  a-dozing  beside  me,  and  nary 
A  breeze  nor  a  whisper  of  sound! 

I've  learnt  the  main  bunch  in  the  heavenly  ranches: 
There's  Jupiter,  Venus,  and  Mars; — 

Religion?     He  don't  know  its  primary  branches 
What  ain't  been  alone  with  the  stars. 

Some  clusters  are  branded, — the  Dipper,  the  Lion, 

The  Eagle,  the  Sarpent,  the  Bear, 
The  Horns  of  the  Bull  and  the  Belt  of  Orion 

And  Cassy  O'What's-her-name's  Chair; 

But  most  of  them's  mavericks,  roaming  the  ranges, 

Unclaimed  in  the  herds  of  the  sky, 
No  part  of  the  big  panorama  that  changes 

From  winter  to  summer; — and  why? 


Well,  maybe  it's  gospel,  or  maybe  he  sold  me, 
But  here  is  the  yarn  that  the  Priest, 

Chitola,  who  bosses  the  Navajos  told  me 
The  night  of  the  corn-planting  feast: 

When  all  of  the  mountains  were  set  in  their  places 

And  threaded  with  canons  and  rills, 
The  star-worlds,  the  last  of  the  mighty  creations, 

Were  laying  in  heaps  on  the  hills 

In  masses  of  silver,  of  gold  and  of  copper 

All  polished  and  shining  and  new, 
Poured  out  on  the  granite  like  corn  from  the  hopper 

Awaiting  their  place  in  the  Blue. 

Now,  first  came  the  Bear  of  the  Mountains,  who 
faces 

The  North,  from  his  cave  in  the  scaurs; 
He  lifted  his  paws  to  the  heavenly  spaces 

And  laid  out  his  picture  in  stars. 

Then  over  the  peaks  of  his  western  dominions 
The  Eagle  who  battles  the  storm 


Flew  up  to  the  heavens  with  star-dusted  pinions 
And  printed  the  lines  of  his  form. 

And  next,  that  the  tribes  and  the  nations  might 
wonder, 

The  Buffalo  leaped  to  the  sky; 
The  shag-headed  Bison  whose  bellow  is  thunder 

Emblazoned  his  image  on  high. 

But  now  came  Coyote,  so  crafty  and  clever, 

A  scallywag  all  the  way  through, 
The  yap-throated,  critical  varmint,  who  never" 

Is  pleased  with  what  other  folks  do. 

Sez  he,  "These  here  stars  were  intended  to  brighten 

The  uttermost  reaches  of  Night; 
But  you  fellers  waste  them  in  pictures  to  heighten 

Your  glory,  and  that  isn't  right! 

< 

"Jest  watch  me!    I'll  show  you  how  stars  should  be 
planted  !"— 

He  jumped  in  the  glittering  piles, 
He  kicked  and  he  gamboled,  he  danced  and  he  ranted, 

He  scattered  them  millions  of  miles! 

1 139] 


So  that's  why  they  glimmer  at  sixes  and  sevens, 

Stampeded  all  over  the  vault, 
A  shame  and  disgrace  to  the  orderly  heavens; — 

It's  all  that  Coyote  chap's  fault. 

And  still  you  can  hear  him,  the  yelping  Coyote, 

A-mocking  the  stars  in  the  dim 
Of  night  on  the  barrens,  with  yammerings  throaty, 

While  they  look  reproachful  at  him. 


140] 


THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  MEASURING-WORM 

WHERE  Merced  the  river  comes  forth  from  the  hills 
Of  wondrous  Yosemite,  barren  and  lone, 

El  Capitan  lifts  from  the  canon  and  fills 

The  sky  with  his  bigness,  a  bulwark  of  stone; 

Time-weathered  El  Capitan  shadows  the  trail, 
That  giant  enthroned  whom  the  Indians  term 

Old  Tu-tok-a-nu-la — Great  Chief  of  the  Vale; 
The  magical  Cliff  of  the  Measuring- Worm. 

Like  bronze-shafted  lances  aglow  in  the  sun 

They  flashed   through  the  waters  that  echoed 
their  noise, 

They  startled  the  valley  with  rollicking  fun — 
Do-e-no  and  Ah-no,  two  Indian  boys; 

They  raced  with  the  trout  of  the  silvery  gleam 
Till,  wearied  of  sport,  from  the  shallows  they  crept 


To  climb  a  huge  bowlder  awash  in  the  stream; 
And  there,  in  the  warmth  of  the  noontide,  they 
slept. 

But  hidden  there  lay  in  that  bowlder's  deep  breast 
The  Wizard  who  claimed  all  the  dale  as  his  own — 

The  Chief  of  the  Valley;   in  wrathful  unrest 
He  troubled  the  heart  of  the  ponderous  stone; 

That  stone  through  his  power  heaved  upward  and 
rose 

A  magical  mountain  sheer-sided  and  high, 
Till,  girdled  with  clouds  and  their  burdening  snows, 

It  lifted  the  lads  to  the  vault  of  the  sky. 

Now,  far  spread  the  news  like  the  wind-hurried 
flame 

On  the  prairie;  and  swift  as  the  torrent  descends 
The  beasts  from  their  lairs  in  the  wilderness  came 

To  rescue  their  two  little  playmates  and  friends. 

And    up    leaped    the    Field-Mouse — but   only   his 

length; 
And  up  leaped  the  Squirrel — but  only  to  fail; 


And  up  leaped  the  Beaver — for  all  of  his  strength 
He  dropped  with  a  smack  on  his  paddlesome  tail. 

And  up  leaped  the  Grizzly,  the  chief  of  his  clan— 
To  shiver  the  hills  with  the  shock  of  his  fall. 

The  Cimarron  leaped  as  a  Cimarron  can; 

The  great  Mountain-Lion  leaped  farthest  of  all; 

Yet,  lofty  and  smooth  as  the  face  of  the  moon, 
That  cliffside,   unvanquished,   loomed  over  the 
plain; 

The  crafty  Coyote,  the  wily  Raccoon 

Held  powwow  and  council — but  ever  in  vain. 

But  while  they  were  leaping  or  striving  to  climb, 
The  Measuring-Worm,  that  was  feeblest  of  all, 

Was  hunching  and  creeping,  an  inch  at  a  time; 
For  hours  and  hours  he  measured  the  wall. 

And  while  he  was  climbing,  behind  him  he  spun 
A  gossamer  filament;   fearless  and  firm, 

He  labored  from  setting  to  rising  of  sun 

And    triumphed — that    conquering    Measuring- 
Worm! 

[143] 


Do-e-no  and  Ah-no  in  gladness  and  hope 

Acclaimed    him;     and,    seizing   the   shimmering 
strand, 

They  reeled  up  a  thread,  then  a  thong,  then  a  rope, 
And  came  down  the  precipice,  hand  over  hand! 

Still  Tu-tok-a-nu-la  looks  over  the  dells 

And  dreams  of  the  day  when  the  oak  was  a  germ; 

And  still  in  his  shadow  the  Indian  tells 

The  marvelous  tale  of  the  Measuring- Worm. 


[144] 


THE  LITTLE  BROTHER 

AN    IROQUOIS    LEGEND 

THE  pines  in  the  dusk  were  sighing, 
The  flame  in  the  lodge  burned  low, 

The  Chief  of  the  Woods  lay  dying, 
Weak  as  a  broken  bow. 

He  spake  to  the  youth  before  him, 
The  child  of  his  younger  days; 

He  spake  to  the  maid  that  o'er  him 
Bowed  like  the  rain-wet  maize: 

"Son  with  the  panther's  litheness, 
Straight  as  the  shaft  that  flies — 

Maid  with  thy  mother's  blitheness, 
Maid  with  thy  mother's  eyes, 

"Cleave  unto  one  another; 

Guard  in  the  tangled  wild 
The  steps  of  your  Little  Brother 

That  is  but  a  helpless  child!" 
[I45l 


The  Chief,  on  the  heavy  morrow 
They  laid  in  the  narrow  grave; 

But  though  for  the  Space  of  Sorrow 
They  held  to  the  trust  he  gave, 

Too  weak  was  the  will  to  smother 
The  call  of  the  world  of  men; 

The  face  of  the  Elder  Brother 
Turned  to  the  tents  again. 

Too  strong  was  the  dumb  desire 
That  woke  in  the  lonely  maid; 

Urged  by  the  secret  fire, 

She  fled  from  the  quiet  glade. 

The  cubs  of  the  forest  clearing 
Lie  warm  in  their  house  of  stone; 

The  Waif  of  a  softer  rearing 
Is  left  in  the  lodge,  alone. 

A  year  and  again  another 

Passed  like  the  firefly's  gleam, 

When,  as  the  Elder  Brother 
Voyaged  a  starlit  stream, — 


Hark !  could  the  cry  be  human, 
The  cry  that  the  forest  gave? 

The  blade  of  the  bronze  canoeman 
Drove  deep  in  the  wounded  wave, 

And,  swift  as  a  lance,  he  darted 
His  prow  to  the  pebbly  edge. — 

Oh,  weird  was  the  Shape  that  parted 
The  reeds  and  the  rustling  sedge! 

With  teeth  that  were  sharp  and  savage. 
Hair  that  was  rough  and  wild; 

The  form  of  a  beast  of  ravage, 
The  face  of  his  father's  child ! 

The  eyes  of  his  tender  mother 

Undimmed  through  the  elf-locks  shone, 
The  voice  of  his  Little  Brother 

Uprose  in  a  bitter  moan: 

"Oh,  where  was  a  brother's  kindness, 

Where  was  a  sister's  shame? 
They  left  me,  in  selfish  blindness, 

To  die  by  the  dying  flame, 

[147] 


"The  blood  of  my  father  fled  me; 

I  starved  like  a  thing  accursed; 
The  wolves  of  the  forest  fed  me, 

The  wolves  of  the  forest  nursed. 

"The  wolves  that  ye  kill  for  robbing 

And  curse  in  your  evil  mood! 
I  wept — did  ye  hear  my  sobbing? 

I  hungered — they  brought  me  food. 

"And  now, — for  the  elk  are  feeding 
And  hot  is  the  red  deer's  track, — 

I  follow  the  gray  wolf's  leading! 
I  hunt  with  the  shaggy  Pack 

"Full  cry  through  the  leafy  arbors! 

My  home  is  the  rocky  den, 
For  warm  are  the  breasts  it  harbors 

And  cold  are  the  hearts  of  men!" 

Then,  stricken,  the  Elder  pleaded: 

"Come  back  from  the  beasts  that  prowl!" 

The  voice  of  the  man,  half  heeded, 
Was  drowned  in  the  wolf  pack's  howl, 


And,  bristling,  the  Wood-waif  started; 

"Nay II  am  a  Wolf!"  he  cried. 
A  Wolf,  through  the  brush  he  darted, 

A  Wolf,  to  the  wolves  replied. 

O  Sons  of  the  one  Great  Mother 
Made  blind  by  the  Mists  of  Greed, 

Beware  lest  your  Little  Brother 
Be  turned  to  a  Wolf  indeed! 


THE  FIRST  THANKSGIVING  DAY 

BOSTON,    1631 

THE  curse  of  Cain  was  on  the  earth; 

The  leaden  heavens  frowned; 
The  Winter  closed  with  cruel  dearth 

And  gripped  the  fruitless  ground. 

Behind  us  rose  the  somber  wood, 
Before  us  stretched  the  foam — 

A  thousand  leagues  of  briny  flood 
That  sundered  us  from  Home. 

The  meager  mussel  was  our  meat; 

We  robbed  the  squirrel's  hoard; 
Our  barren  glebe  beneath  our  feet, 

We  cried  upon  the  Lord. 

"Arouse  your  souls  against  despair," 
The  godly  Winthrop  said, 

"And  chuse  a  day  of  fast  and  prayer; 
For  surely,  He  who  led 
[150] 


"Our  wanderings  across  the  wave 
Shall  hear  us  when  we  plead, 

And  stretch  a  mighty  arm  to  save 
His  people  in  their  need." 

Behold!  when  all  is  bleak  and  drear 
And  want  assails  the  land, 

How  God  delighteth  to  appear 
To  work  with  wondrous  hand] 

For,  even  as  we  made  to  deal 
To  one  that  hungered  sore 

The  utmost  handful  of  our  meal, 
A  shout  arose  from  shore. 

An  hundred  watching  eyes  descried 
Through  Winter's  misty  pall 

The  good  ship  Lion  breast  the  tide 
With  provender  for  all. 

Then  joined  the  voice  of  first  and  least 
A  hymn  of  thanks  to  raise; 

Our  day  of  Fasting  changed  to  Feast 

And  Prayer  gave  way  to  Praise. 
11  [151] 


So,  once  in  every  year  we  throng, 

Upon  a  day  apart, 
To  praise  the  Lord  with  feast  and  song 

In  thankfulness  of  heart. 


152] 


APPLEDORE 

ENCHANTRESS  Dawn  hath  wrought  a  rosy  spell 
And  cloud-built  turrets  crown  a  perfect  day. 

Good-by,  O,  brave  brown  sails  that  eastward  swell 
Beneath  a  rainbow  arched  athwart  the  spray! 

The  fisher  fleet  hath  left  the  Isles  of  Shoals; 

The  kerchiePd  women  leave  the  rocky  shore 
Where,  purring  like  a  tiger,  Ocean  rolls 

To  cast  the  clinging  weed  on  Appledore. 

And  children's  voices  chime  above  the  roar 
Of  billows  on  the  crags  of  Appledore. 

Across  the  sky  the  tattered  storm-wraiths  sweep; 

Their  work  is  done,  fierce  Wind,  away,  away! 
For,  like  a  sated  beast,  the  white-ridged  Deep 

Is  snarling  sullenly  above  his  prey. 

[153] 


Three  deaths  there  are  that  Ocean  gives  his  own- 
The  Wave,  the  Reef,  the  Monster  of  the  Vast; 

A  hundred  deaths  he  holds  for  them  that  moan 
And  shrink  from  every  waif  the  billows  cast. 

And  oh,  the  sodden  wrack  along  the  shore! 
And  oh,  and  oh,  the  reefs  of  Appledore! 


154] 


THE  ROYAL  AUVERGNE 

YORKTOWN,    1781 

The  last  redoubt  at  Yorktown  was  taken  mainly  by 
the  regiment  of  Gatinais,  of  which  the  Count  de  Ro- 
chambeau  had  been  colonel,  and  which  regained,  as  a 
reward  for  its  bravery  on  this  occasion  its  former  title, 
" D'Auvergne  sans  tache." 

ABOVE  the  camp  and  bristling  trench, 

Above  the  wind-bent  spars 
The  Bourbon  Lilies  swelled  and  furled 

Beside  the  Thirteen  Stars; 

In  buff  and  blue,  and  white  and  green 

The  Allies'  firm  array 
Begirt  the  town,  where,  dark  and  stern, 

The  Earl  Cornwallis  lay. 

St.  Simon,  Lincoln,  La  Fayette, 
And  Wayne,  the  fierce  and  free, 

Kept  guard  on  land,  while  bold  De  Grasse 
Unchallenged  rode  the  sea; 

[155] 


Yet,  undismayed  and  hopeful  still 

Of  succor  from  without, 
The  stubborn  foeman  held  his  ground 

Behind  the  last  redoubt. 

Uprose  the  Count  de  Rochambeau 
And  spoke  with  flashing  glance: 

"This  night  your  King  hath  need  of  ye, 
O  Grenadiers  of  France! 

"Be  yours  the  task  by  push  of  steel 

Yon  grim  redoubt  to  earn. 
Remember,  we  were  comrades  once — 

My  lads  of  old  Auvergne!" 

Outspoke  the  grizzled  Corporal 

That  bore  the  livid  scar: 
"Our  hearts,  my  Count,  are  stout  as  when 

We  followed  thee  to  war; 

"And  still  we'll  fight  at  thy  command 

Till  every  man  be  slain, 
But — give  again  our  name  of  old — 

'Auvergne  without  a  stain !": 


"A  soldier's  wish!  a  soldier's  speech 

That  speaks  a  soldier's  pride! 
And  who  that  pleads  in  Honor's  name 

Shall  find  his  suit  denied? 

"There  lies  your  way,  my  Grenadiers! 

And  when  that  fort  ye  gain 
Ye  win  anew  the  vaunting  name— 

'Auvergne  without  a  stain!" 

They  formed.     They  charged.     A  hostile  gun 

Awoke  in  sullen  ire; 
The  wrathful  ramparts  rent  the  night — 

A  crown  of  darted  fire; 

But,  rank  on  rank,  with  steady  step, 
They  crossed  the  death-swept  plain 

And  forced  the  threatening  barrier — 
"Auvergne  without  a  stain!" 

De  Lameth  fell !— Deuxponts  led  on!— 

They  swarmed  the  parapet, 
And  fierce  and  deadly  raged  the  war 

As  Gaul  and  Hessian  met! 
[157] 


Till,  rang  a  shout  of  victory 

To  listening  Washington — , 
"The  work  is  done!"  the  Leader  said, 

"Thank  God!— and  nobly  done!" 

And  when  the  allied  armies  formed 

To  meet  the  yielded  foe, 
And  troop  by  troop  and  corps  by  corps 

Were  ranged  in  gallant  show, 

Though  one  remained  where  two  had  stood, 

The  proudest  of  the  train 
Were  they  who  bore  the  thrice-earned  name — 

"Auvergne  without  a  stain!" 


WASHINGTON  AT  MONMOUTH 

OLD  General  Scott  of  the  rollicking  nights 
Was  home  from  the  last  of  his  Indian  fights, 
A  grizzled  campaigner,  enjoying  his  ease, 
As  gruff  and  as  bluff  and  as  kind  as  you  please. 
At  Braddock's  Disaster  he  first  drew  a  sword; 
He'd  served  under  Washington,  whom  he  adored; 
He'd  taken  his  luck  in  the  Trenton  campaign; 
He'd    stormed    Stony    Point   with    Mad   Anthony 

Wayne; 

And  now  toward  the  close  of  his  glorious  day 
He  governed  Kentucky  with  jovial  sway, 
As  merry  as  sunshine,  as  wholesome  as  air; 
But,  give  him  occasion,  and  how  he  could  swear! 

His  chaplain,  companion  in  bivouac  and  storm, 
Resolved  to  accomplish  a  needed  reform; 
And,  like  a  good  soldier  in  strategy  tried, 
Advanced  on  the  Governor's  tenderest  side. 

[159] 


"Such  language,"  he  said,  "isn't  fit  to  be  heard! 
Did  ever  your  General  use  such  a  word? 
Come,  Governor,  tell  me  the  truth  if  you  dare! — 
I'm  sure  that  you  never  heard  Washington  swear!" 

The  Governor  looked  like  a  boy  that  is  chid, 
Thought    sadly, — then    chuckled    his    answer:    "I 

did! 
Just    once.     'Twas    at    Monmouth — oho!    I    was 

there! 

And  that  was  a  day  to  make  anyone  swear. 
He'd  planned  it.     Our  forces  were  posted  in  style 
To  give  'em  a  dose  they'd  remember  a  while, 
When  Lee,  with  the  regiments  wild  to  attack, 
Lee  ran  like  a  turkey;  at  least  he  fell  back. 

"Now  up  rode  my  General,  wrathful,  amazed; 
And  thunder,  volcanoes  and  guns!  how  he  blazed! 
He  swore  at  nine  full  generations  of  Lees; 
He    swore    till    the    leaves   fairly   danced   on   the 

trees. 

Was  never  such  swearing  in  earnest  or  play 
As  his  on  that  most  unforgettable  day! 
[160] 


Twas   charming;     delightful.      He   swore   like   a 

Prince 
Of  the  Russias; — such  swearing  I've  never  heard 

since. 

But  nothing  ignoble!     Twas  lofty  and  high; 
He  swore  like  an  angel  come  down  from  the  sky. 
Twas  worth  a  right  arm,  Sir,  to  hear  and  to  see 
The  way  that  my  General  swore  at  Charles  Lee!" 


161] 


THE    BLUE    HEN'S    CHICKENS 

Commodore  Thomas  Macdonough,  victor  in  the 
Battle  of  Lake  Champlain,  September,  1814,  hailed 
from  Delaware,  whose  best  fighting  men  were  known 
from  Revolutionary  days  as  "The  Blue  Hen's  Chickens." 

SOU'-SOU'EAST  of  the  Woods  of  Penn 
Lies  the  Nest  of  the  Old  Blue  Hen— 
The  garden  spot  beyond  compare 
Known  as  the  State  of  Delaware. 
Dutchman,  Yankee,  Finn,  and  Swede 
Filled  the  land  with  a  stalwart  breed, 
Cleared  the  forest,  sowed  the  maize, 
Back  in  the  old  Colonial  days; 
Then,  in  "the  times  that  tried  men's  souls," 
Put  their  names  on  the  muster-rolls 
And  marched  away  with  courage  stout 
To  drive  King  George's  Redcoats  out. 


North  with  the  Delaware  Regiment 
Captain  Jonathan  Caldwell  went, 
Taking  along,  to  amuse  his  men, 
Sundry  chicks  of  an  Old  Blue  Hen. — 
Yes,  they  had  their  minor  crimes; 
Men  "fought  cocks"  in  those  wicked  times, 
And  the  best-plucked  birds  from  the  Gulf  to  Maine 
Were  the  fighting  cocks  of  the  Old  Blue  strain; 
And  like  those  birds,  the  books  declare, 
Were  the  men  who  marched  from  the  Delaware; 
For  fight  they  could,  and  fight  like  the  dickens, — 
So    the    Army    called    them,    "The    Blue    Hen's 
Chickens!" 


Once  again  was  the  land  at  grips 
With  mad  King  George's  troops  and  ships: 
Macdonough  sailed  on  Lake  Champlain — 
A  fighting  cock  of  the  Old  Blue  strain. 
His  fleet,  new-built  of  lakeside  pine 
And  oak,  he  ranged  in  battle  line 
Where  Plattsburg's  headland  rears  its  crag; 
The  Saratoga  bore  his  flag. 


The  foe  came  down;  the  fight  was  hot; 
Port  and  starboard  crashed  the  shot; 
Heavy  broadsides,  stroke  on  stroke, 
Battered  the  Flagship's  walls  of  oak, — 

When, — a  bolt  from  a  British  sloop 
Broke  the  bars  of  the  chicken  coop! 
Forth  upon  the  blood-stained  deck 
Strutted  a  Bird  with  arching  neck. 
Up  he  flew  to  the  splintering  spars 
Under  the  Flag  of  Fifteen  Stars 
And  crowed  and  crowed  and  crowed  again, 
For  he  was  a  Cock  of  the  Old  Blue  Hen! 
And  the  grimy  sailors  down  below 
Laughed  and  cheered  to  hear  him  crow, 
And  kept  the  rapid  guns  aflame 
Till  down  the  British  ensign  came! 

Bravely  flung  to  the  autumn  breeze 
Floats  the  Flag  on  the  lakes  and  seas 
From  bending  masts  and  dipping  spars, 
And  two  score-eight  are  its  Clustered  Stars. 


Two  score-eight,  in  their  silver  sheen, 

Cluster  the  Stars  that  were  once  Thirteen; 

And  there's  Peace  in  the  East,  Peace  in  the  West, 

From  the  Golden  Gate  to  the  Blue  Hen's  Nest 

There  is  Peace.    And  the  Peace  that  ye  hold  so  dear 

Was  won  by  men  who  laughed  at  Fear; 

So  may  we  have,  in  time  of  need, 

More  Fighting  Cocks  of  the  Blue  Hen's  breed! 


THE  SNARLERS 

WHEN  the  mighty  Maccabean  led  the  armies  of  the 

Lord, 
And  the  cohorts  of  Nicanor  feared  the  red  Judean 

sword, 
Though   he   bore   a   people's   sorrows,   though   he 

periled  life  and  fame, 
Like  the  shrilling  of  the  locust  rose  the  bitter  cry 

of  blame, 
With  the  murmur  and  the  clamor  and  the  hiss  and 

hoot  and  groan 
Of  the  narrow  clan  that  fancy  all  hearts  evil,  save 

their  own: 
"Ah!  he  fought  upon  the  Sabbath! — broke  the  law 

of  hearth  and  home! 
Down  with  Judas  Maccabeus!  who  would  sell  the 

land  to  Rome! 
So  they  left  that  noble  leader  in  their  envy  and 

their  pride, 
And  he  fell,  for  them,  in  battle.     He  was  happy 

that  he  died. 

U66] 


Seven  years  the  Great  Virginian  faced  the  legions 

of  the  king, 
Braving,  with  his  ragged   heroes,  warfare's  rage 

and  winter's  sting, — 
Strong   in    peril,    calm    in    triumph,    lion-hearted 

through  despair, 
Till  the  cloud  of  conflict  lifted   and  a  new-born 

flag  was  there. 
Through  the  smoke  of  field  and  bivouac,  yea,  when 

armed  strife  was  done 
And  he  toiled  to  weld  a  nation  of  the  realms  his 

sword  had  won, 
Came  the  cry  of  hate  and  malice  fostered  by  the 

poisoned  pen: 
"Dotard!    traitor!    false    usurper!"    brawled    the 

breed  of  little  men. 
Peace!  the  Canon  of  the  Ages  echoes  not  the  ass's 

bray. 
While  his  name  resounds  forever,  his  defamers — 

who  were  they? 

Noble,  wise,   and  simple-hearted,   rock  against  a 

hundred  jars, 
Lincoln  wrought  with  constant  purpose  to  unite  the 

sundered  Stars. 
12 


Who  may  guess  his  burning  anguish  that  his  hand, 

which  sought  to  heal, 
First  must  wound  what  most  he  cherished — search 

the  land  with  flame  and  steel! 
Ever  when  his  need  was  sorest,  loud  the  spiteful 

cry  uprose; 
Fiercely,   bitterly  they  chorused,   feigned    friends 

and  open  foes, 
Every  action  misconstruing,  every  motive  splashing 

black, 

Every  mouth   its  venom  spewing,  "Butcher!  ty 
rant!"  yelped  the  pack, 
Till  the  murderous  bullet  smote  him  and  he  died 

as  martyrs  die; 
And  a  nation's  wail  of  mourning  gave  those  dastard 

throats  the  lie. 

Think!  ye  shrill  and  frequent  carpel s,  jealous  of 

the  public  weal, 
Truly,  may  not  they  who  govern  love  their  land 

with  equal  zeal? 
May  not  those  who  work  in  silence  build  in  fact  a 

noble  dream? 
Free  your  hearts  of  cant  and  rancor!     Purge  your 

souls  of  self-esteem ! 

[i68l 


Delve  no  more  in  petty  errors  till  your  eyes  are 
dim  with  dust! 

View  with  broader,  clearer  vision;  seek  to  fathom, 
learn  to  trust. 

Hail!  true  souls  that,  uncomplaining,  take  the  truth 
of  foe  and  friend, 

Fearless  front  the  hidden  danger!  Ye  shall  tri 
umph  at  the  end. 

For  the  men  that  do  are  deathless,  spite  of  scoff 
and  sneer  and  curse, 

While  the  snarlers  are  forgotten, — or  remembered, 
which  is  worse. 


LINCOLN 

DARE  we  despair^  Through  all  the  nights  and  days 

Of  lagging  war  he  kept  his  courage  true. 
Shall  Doubt  befog  our  eyes?     A  darker  haze 

But  proved  the  faith  of  him  who  ever  knew 
That  Right  must  conquer.     May  we  cherish  hate 

For  our  poor  griefs,  when  never  word  nor  deed 
Of  rancor,  malice,  spite,  of  low  or  great, 

In  his  large  soul  one  poison  drop  could  breed  ? 

He  leads  us  still.     O'er  chasms  yet  unspanned 
Our  pathway  lies;  the  work  is  but  begun; 

But  we  shall  do  our  part  and  leave  our  land 
The  mightier  for  noble  battles  won. 

Here  Truth  must  triumph,  Honor  must  prevail; 

The  Nation  Lincoln  died  for  cannot  fail! 


170] 


THE  SCOUT  TRAIL 

WASHINGTON  blazed  it  through  wilderness  snows, 

Wearing  the  hunting  shirt,  bearing  the  pack, 
Braving  the  winter  and  treacherous  foes, 

Out  to  the  turbid  Ohio  and  back. 
Carson  and  Crockett  and  Boone  and  the  rest, 

Hunter  and  fighter  and  bold  pioneer, 
Carried  it  southward  and  carried  it  west — 

Follow  their  moccasins,  treading  it  clear! 

Over  the  mountains  they  furthered  the  way; 

Still  in  the  distance  new  ranges  were  blue. 
Sure  with  the  rifle  and  hatchet  were  they, 

Deft  with  the  paddle  and  buoyant  canoe. 
Guarding  the  hamlet  that  rose  in  the  glen, 

Guarding  the  train  from  the  savages'  wrath, 
Living  free-hearted  and  dying  like  men — 

What   must   they    be   who   would    follow   their 
path  ? 


Cleanly  in  body  and  cleanly  in  mind, 

Loyal  and  resolute,  patient  and  strong, 
Fearless  and  generous,  cheerful  and  kind, 

Stalwart  in  shielding  the  weaker  from  wrong. 
Whether  it  lead  through  the  peace  of  the  vale, 

Whether  through  cities  that  bustle  and  hum, 
Scouts  of  America,  follow  that  trail, 

Treading  it  plain  for  the  millions  to  come! 


172] 


OF  HIS  OWN  TIMES 


THE  CALL  TO  THE  COLORS 

"ARE  you  ready,  O  Virginia, 

Alabama,  Tennessee? 
People  of  the  Southland,  answer! 

For  the  land  hath  need  of  ye." 
"Here!"  from  the  sandy  Rio  Grande 

Where  the  Texan  horsemen  ride. 
"Here!"  the  hunters  of  Kentucky 

Hail  from  Chatterawha's  side. 
Every  toiler  in  the  cotton, 

Every  rugged  mountaineer, 
Velvet-voiced  and  iron-handed, 

Lifts  his  head  to  answer,  "Here!'* 
"Some  remain  who  charged  with  Pickett, 

Some  survive  who  followed  Lee: 
They  shall  lead  their  sons  to  battle 

For  the  Flag  if  need  there  be." 

[175] 


"Are  you  ready,  California, 

Arizona,  Idaho? 
'Come,  oh,  come  unto  the  colors!' — 

Heard  ye  not  the  bugle  blow?" 
Falls  a  hush  in  San  Francisco 

In  the  humming  hives  of  trade; 
In  the  vineyards  of  Sonoma 

Fall  the  pruning-kriife  and  spade; 
In  the  mines  of  Colorado 

Pick  and  drill  are  flung  aside; 
Anchored  in  Seattle  harbor 

Swing  the  merchants  to  the  tide — 
And  a  million  mighty  voices 

Throb  responsive  like  a  drum 
Rolling  from  the  rough  Sierras, 

"You  have  called  us,  and  we  come.' 

Over  Kansas  runs  the  challenge, 

Over  lake  and  over  plain: 
"Are  you  ready,  Minnesota? 

Are  ye  ready,  Men  of  Maine?" 
From  the  woods  of  Ontonagon, 

From  the  farms  of  Illinois, 


From  the  looms  of  Massachusetts,— 

"We  are  ready,  man  and  boy/* 
Axmen  free,  of  Androscoggin, 

Clerks  who  trudge  the  city  paves, 
Gloucester  men  who  drag  their  plunder 

From  the  gray  and  hungry  waves, 
Big-boned  Swede  and  large-limbed  German, 

Celt  and  Saxon  swell  the  cry, 
And  the  Adirondacks  echo, 

"We  are  ready,  do  or  die!" 

Truce  to  feud  and  peace  to  faction! 

Stilled  is  every  party  brawl 
When  the  warships  clear  for  action, 

When  the  battle  bugles  call. 
Kings  may  brag  of  standing  armies — 

Serfs  who  blindly  fight  by  trade; 
We  have  twenty  million  soldiers 

With  a  soul  behind  each  blade. 
Laborers  with  arm  and  mattock, 

Laborers  with  brain  and  pen, 
Railroad  prince  and  railroad  brakeman, 

Build  our  line  of  fighting  men. 

[177] 


Flag  of  righteous  wars!  close-mustered 
Gleam  the  bayonets,  row  on  row, 

Where  thy  stars  are  sternly  clustered 
With  their  daggers  toward  the  foe! 


THE  RUSH  OF  THE  "OREGON" 

THEY  held  her  South  to  Magellan's  mouth, 

Then  East  they  steered  her,  forth 
Through  the  farther  gate  of  the  crafty  strait, 

And  then  they  held  her  North. 

Six  thousand  miles  to  the  Indian  Isles! 

And  the  Oregon  rushed  home, 
Her  wake  a  swirl  of  jade  and  pearl, 

Her  bow  a  bend  of  foam. 

And  when  at  Rio  the  cable  sang, 

"There  is  war,  there  is  war  with  Spain!" 

The  swart  crews  grinned  and  stroked  their  guns 
And  thought  of  the  mangled  Maine. 

In  the  glimmered  gloom  of  the  engine  room 
There  was  joy  to  each  grimy  soul, 

And  fainting  men  sprang  up  again 
And  heaped  the  blazing  coal. 

[179] 


Good  need  was  there  to  go  with  care; 

But  every  sailor  prayed 
Or  gun  for  gun,  or  six  to  one 

To  meet  them,  unafraid. 

Her  goal  at  last!     With  joyous  blast 

She  hailed  the  welcoming  roar 
Of  hungry  sea-wolves  curved  along 

The  strong-hilled  Cuban  shore. 

Long  nights  went  by.     Her  beamed  eye 

Unwavering  searched  the  bay, 
Where,  trapped  and  penned  for  a  certain  end, 

The  Spanish  squadron  lay. 

Out  of  the  harbor  a  curl  of  smoke — 

And  a  watchful  gun  rang  clear. 
Out  of  the  channel  the  squadron  broke 

Like  a  bevy  of  frightened  deer. 

Then  there  was  shouting  for  "Steam,  more  steam!' 

And  fires  glowed  white  and  red, 
And  guns  were  manned  and  ranges  planned, 

And  the  great  ships  leaped  ahead, 
f  i8ol 


Then  there  was  roaring  of  chorusing  guns, 

Shatter  of  shell,  and  spray; 
And  who  but  the  rushing  Oregon 

Was  fiercest  in  chase  and  fray! 

For  her  mighty  wake  was  a  seething  snake; 

Her  bow  was  a  billow  of  foam; 
Like  the  mail-gloved-  fists  of  an  angry  wight 

Her  shot  drove  crashing  home. 

Pride  of  the  Spanish  Navy,  ho! 

Flee  like  a  hounded  beast! 
For  the  Ship  of  the  Northwest  strikes  a  blow 

For  the  Ship  of  the  far  Northeast! 

In  quivering  joy  she  surged  ahead 

Aflame  with  flashing  bars, 
Till  down  sunk  the  Spaniard's  gold  and  red 

And  up  ran  the  Clustered  Stars. 

Glory  to  share?    Aye,  and  to  spare; 

But  the  chiefest  is  hers,  by  right 
Of  a  rush  of  fourteen  thousand  miles 

For  the  chance  of  a  bitter  fight. 
[181] 


THE  ROUGH  RIDERS 

BROADCLOTH,  buckskin,  coat  of  blue  or  tan, 

Strip  it  off  for  action  and  beneath  you  II  find  a  Man. 

The  boy  that  bucked  the  center  and  the  lad  that  roped 

the  steer 
Chum  in  fighting  fellowship,  charging  with  a  cheer. 

Their  horses  are  picketed  leagues  away, 

Their  sabers  are  on  the  nail; 
They  have  taken  the  rifle;   at  break  of  day 

They  have  taken  the  narrow  trail. 

The  shimmering  blade  of  the  bayonet 

Is  red  in  the  dawning  sun; 
'Twill  burn  with  a  ruddier  crimson  yet 

Or  ever  the  work  is  done. 

"Now  why  do  the  scavenger  grave-crabs  go 

A-cluttering  down  the  dell?" 
"Oh,  ask  of  the  vulture  hovering  low; 

It  may  be  that  he  can  tell.'* 


"Is  yonder  the  gleam  of  a  mountain  stream 

In  boscage,  creeper,  and  root?" 
"Quick! — Drop  ye  down  in  the  jungle  brown 

And  cuddle  your  stock,  and  shoot!" 

The  hunters  stripped  to  the  cartridge  belt 
And  stalked  in  the  seething  maze. 

The  Indian-fighters  crawled  and  knelt 
And  pulled  at  the  rifle  blaze. 

Kentucky  fought  with  a  grim  delight 

And  Texas  with  his  soul; 
But  the  football  rusher  reared  his  height 

And  plunged  for  the  deadly  goal. 

They  yelled  disdain  of  the  driving  rain 

Of  steel  that  bit  and  tore. 
If  the  wounded  sobbed,  it  was  not  for  pain, 

But  that  he  could  fight  no  more. 

Then,  volleying  low  at  the  hidden  foe 

They  rushed  him, — two  to  ten; 
They  were  trained  in  the  rule  of  an  iron  school 

And  they  were  their  Colonel's  men. 
13  [  183  ] 


From  thicket  to  thicket  and  glade  to  glade 

And  out  to  the  jungle's  marge 
They  harried  him  back  on  a  clotted  track 

And  formed  for  the  final  charge. 

Hark  to  the  swell  of  the  Rebel  yell, 

The  bugle  calm  and  clear, 
The  "uh-luh-luh-loo"  of  the  tameless  Sioux 

And  the  roar  of  the  Saxon  cheer! 

The  Baresark  awoke  in  the  Teuton  folk; 

The  Roman  was  born  anew; 
The  pride  of  the  blood  of  the  Maccabee 

Revived  in  the  fighting  Jew; 

While,  up  from  the  right,  like  a  storm  at  night, 

Rilled  with  the  riving  flame, 
Their  eyes  ashine,  in  a  steadfast  line 

The  Negro  troopers  came. 

Sons  of  the  Past, — her  best  and  last, — 

At  Freedom's  bugle  call 
The  Races  sweep  to  the  conquered  keep 

The  Flag  that  shelters  all. 

[184] 


In  peace  ye  prate  of  the  needs  of  state 

And  winnow  your  meager  souls 
Refining  if  this  be  Truly  Great, 

And  quake  at  clouded  goals. 

When  we  trust  our  weal  to  the  clashing  steel 

The  Land  calls  forth  her  own; 
Then  it's  ho!  for  the  men  of  heart  and  brain 

And  blood  and  brawn  and  bone! 

Broadcloth,  buckskin,  coat  of  blue  or  tan, — 

Rip  it  with  a  bullet  and  beneath  you  II  find  a  Man. 

The  boy  that  bucked  the  center  and  the  lad  that  roped 

the  steer 
Chum  iu  fighting  fellowship,  charging  with  a  cheer. 


185] 


TAPS 

MANILA,    FEBRUARY    5,    1899 

WITH  arms  reversed,  and  colors  low, 

And  dirge,  in  evening  calm, 
We  lay  the  lads  who  loved  the  pine 

To  rest  beneath  the  palm. 
In  spite  of  tropic  scene  and  sky 

And  leagues  of  Eastward  foam, 
Within  no  alien  mold  they  lie — 

Where  rest  our  dead  is  Home. 
They  won  with  life,  they  hold  in  death 

For  that  which  floats  above; 
And  o'er  their  grave  for  aye  shall  wave 

The  banner  of  their  love. 
Across  the  tomb  the  volleys  peal, 

And,  as  the  shadows  fall, 
Floats  clear,  in  tender  requiem, 

The  mellow  bugle  call: 
[186] 


"Lights  out!— 

Slumber  well — 

Ye  who  toiled,  ye  who  died  for  the  Flag- 

'Neath  its  folds — 

Ever  rest; 

Good  night." 


187 


A  GREAT  ECONOMIST 

GOVERNOR  LEARY  of  Guam 
Holds  court  in  the  shade  of  a  palm; 
He  comes  of  the  race  that  thinks  fighting  is  play, 
That  jokes  with  to-morrow  and  blarneys  to-day, 
That  governs  by  instinct,  but  hates  to  obey. — 
Is  that  why  they  sent  him  to  Guam? 

They  gave  him,  like  Sancho,  an  isle 

To  rule  with  benevolent  guile. 
The  natives  were  lazy;  they  didn't  know  much; 
Their  manners  were  fine,  but  their  morals  were  such 
That  Decency  galloped  away  on  a  crutch 

And  Vice  lounged  around  in  a  smile 

But  Leary,  a  ruler  of  force, 
Admonished  his  subjects,  of  course. 
He  taught  them  that  Manhood  by  industry  thrives; 
He  showed  them  the  folly  of  triplicate  lives, 
And  greatly  reduced  their  assortments  of  wives 
By  crude,  yet  effective  divorce. 
[188] 


Yet  hear  of  the  feats  of  his  quill, 
Ye  students  of  Spencer  and  Mill! 
He  issued  an  edict,  to  which  all  must  bow, 
That  each  sturdy  loafer  must  harrow  and  plow, 
And  harbor  and  cherish  twelve  hens  and  a  cow, 
The  fruit  of  his  labor  and  skill. 

Oh,  Leary  effendi,  salaam! 

Return  from  the  isle  of  the  palm! 
Give  laws  to  a  populace  burdened  with  care; 
Compel  me  to  flourish  with  carriage  and  pair, 
And  make  every  beggar  a  quintillionaire! — 

Why  squander  your  genius  on  Guam? 


[189 


ELSEWHERE,  R.  F.  D. 

LIKE  other  town-bred  folk,  I  dwell 
Within  a  stoned  citadel 

Against  which  tides  of  clangor  beat, 

At  Number  Something,  Somewhere  Street. 

But  round  about  Thanksgiving  time, 
When  cider  foams,  when  nuts  are  prime, 

When  pumpkin  pies  are  fair  to  see, 
My  home  is  Elsewhere,  R.  F.  D. 

Beyond  the  railway's  rigid  lines 

The  road  deflects  through  miles  of  pines 

And  stubble  fields  and  fallow  lands — 
Till  there  the  prim  white  farmhouse  stands. 
[  190] 


Four  windows  gleam  on  either  side 
Of  one  deep  doorway,  opening  wide 

Where  hearth  and  lamp  combine  to  throw 
On  all  within  the  kindly  glow 

That  says,  more  plain  than  speech  of  men, 
"Right  glad  to  see  ye  back  again!" 

A  breeze  that  cools,  yet  rarely  chills, 
Brings  fresh  from  farms  and  far,  blue  hills 

Those  whiffs  of  brushwood  smoke,  and  loam 
That  tell  the  rover,  "This  is  home." 

I  meet  again  the  old-time  folks, 
I  hear  again  the  old-time  jokes; 

And  what  with  poultry,  cows,  and  sheep 
And  colts  and  pigs  and  meals  and  sleep, 

And  all  the  walks  and  sounds  and  sights, 
And  all  the  talks  and  tales  o'  nights, 


And  all  the  best  that  life  can  give, 
It  keeps  one  busy  just  to  live. 

So  when  I'm  there  I  do  not  think 
To  bother  much  with  pen  and  ink; 

But  should  you  write  a  card  to  me, 
Address  it,  " Elsewhere,  R.  F.  D." 


192 


UNDER  THE  GOAL   POSTS 

WE  had  battered  their  weakening  rush  line  till  it 

gave  like  a  wisp  of  grass 
To  the  push  of  the  padded  shoulder  and  the  brunt 

of  the  plunging  mass. 
And  thrice,  by  our  heavy  rushes  and   runs  that 

would  stir  your  soul, 

We  had  carried  the  grass-stained  football  in  tri 
umph  beyond  their  goal. 
Defeated,  wearied,  hopeless,  five  minutes  more  to 

play, 
They  lined  beneath  their  goal  posts — our  dearest 

foes,  at  bay. 

Across  the  trampled  oval  there  boomed  a  steady  roar 
That  shook  the  crowded  benches,  demanding  "One 

more  score!" 

Their  plucky  little  quarter  held  up  a  muddy  hand; 
We  heard  his  hearty  whisper:    "We'll  hold  'em; 

now,  boys,  stand!" 

[193] 


We  hurled  our  weight  upon  them;    their  center  met 

the  shock 
Well-braced,  with  hip  and  shoulder,  and  held  us 

like  a  rock. 
Again  we  charged;    they  wavered,  they  bent  and 

swayed — and  then 

They  surged  as  ocean  surges  and  bore  us  back  again. 
We  tried  for  goal;    our  full-back  drove  the  pigskin 

clean  and  fair; 
Their   sturdy  guards   came   leaping   through   and 

blocked  it  in  the  air. 
Each  arm  became  a  bulwark,  each  chest  became  a 

shield, 
And  steady  as  a  phalanx  they  bucked  us  down  the 

field 

Until  the  last  shrill  whistle  and  banners  wildly  tossed 
Proclaimed  the  game  was  over.     We'd  won,  and 

they  had  lost. 

They  lost,  yet  half  in  triumph.     'Tis  not  that  I 

would  seem 
To  dim  the  cloudless  glories  of  our  great,  unbeaten 

team, 

[194] 


But  still,  should  fortune  fail  us  at  length,  the  hope 

is  mine 
That  we  may  stand  as  they  did  upon  the  last  white 

line; 
That  we  may  show  the  courage  and  stubbornness 

of  soul 
That  balked  our  eager  rushers  beneath  their  very 

goal. 


[195] 


IN  TRAINING 

THE  scent  of  loam  from  the  new-plowed  farms, 

A  silver  moon  in  a  velvet  sky, 
A  whip-lash  wind  on  the  knitted  arms 

And  a  joyful  hail  as  the  rout  goes  by: 

"Come!  with  the  bound  of  the  running-track, 
The  four-mile  canter,  free  and  slow, 

The  wolf-like  rush  of  the  football  pack 

And  the  dancing  step  the  lacrosse  men  know!" 

With  breath  deep  drawn  for  the  heart's  full  beat, 
The  head  held  high  and  the  shoulders  square, 

The  earth  well  packed  for  the  light-pressed  feet, 
And  a  breeze  to  play  in  the  tossing  hair, — 

"Ho!  for  a  dash  to  the  river  shore 

By  the  straight-cut  road  or  the  paths  that  wind 
With  a  strength  that  laughs  at  the  miles  before 

And  the  pride  of  youth  in  the  miles  behind!" 


THE  INDIA  PASSAGE 

PANAMA,    1903 

FROBISHER,  Cabot  and  Hudson  and  Drake, 
Probers  of  river  mouth,  inlet,  and  bay, 

Sang,  with  the  broadening  seas  in  their  wake, 
" Northward  and  Westward! — We'll  search  out 
the  way! 

"Follow  the  scent  of  the  Islands  of  Spice! 

Seadogs  of  Britain  or  Holland,  hark  on! 
Burst  through  the  envious  ramparts  of  ice! 

Ho,  for  the  treasures  of  Presbyter  John! 

"Locked  in  the  land-fettered  chest  of  the  sea, 
Pearls  of  Cipango  and  silks  of  Cathay 

Wait  for  the  Hero  that  findeth  the  key; 

West,  North,  or  South, — we  shall  find  out  the 


way ! 


197] 


Where  be  the  galleys  that  ranged  on  that  quest? 

Caverned  in  ocean  or  beached  on  his  sands. 
Where  the  Adventurers? — God  give  them  rest! 

Wild  were  their  hearts  and  the  work  of  their 
hands. 

Barring  the  path  to  their  Land  of  Desire 
Reaches  a  Continent,  high  land  and  low, 

South  to  the  desolate  Island  of  Fire, 
North  to  the  ocean  of  ice-pack  and  floe. 

Now  at  the  link  of  the  Western  domain 
Where  the  first  flash  of  the  farthermost  sea 

Gladdened  the  hardy  world-ranger  of  Spain 
Beckons  the  Toiler — undaunted  as  he: 

"Come  with   the   mattock,   the   dredge,   and    the 

spade, 
Burst  through  the  rock  wall  and  delve  through 

the  clay! 
Ocean  and  ocean  as  one  shall  be  made! 

West   through   the   Isthmus   I'll   carve  out   the 


way! 


1 198 


Rover  or  Toiler,  the  end  is  the  same: 
Blindly  we  follow  the  Infinite  plan, 

Playing  with  water,  earth,  ether,  or  flame, 
Binding  the  world  for  the  kinship  of  Man. 


[ 199  1 


BUSINESS 

WE  were  youthful,  crude,  and  foolish  when  a  Dema 
gogic  Ring 

Had  a  difference  of  opinion  with  a  Parliament  and 
King. 

And  their  reckless  agitation  set  the  Nations  by  the 
ears 

And  entailed  a  wasteful  warfare  for  the  space  of 
seven  years. 


Then  the  empty  name  of  "Freedom"  was  the  only 

thing  we  gained! 
While  we  prospered,  did  it  matter  whether  King  or 

Congress  reigned? 
How  much  better  had  they  listened  to  the  warnings 

from  the  Throne 
To  preserve  Existing  Order  and  let  well-enough 

alone ! 

[200] 


But  they  interfered  with  Business  in  a  most  disas 
trous  way; 

For  the  Merchant  couldn't  traffic,  the  Consumer 
couldn't  pay, 

And  our  Credit  was  as  worthless  as  the  echo  of  a 
song. 

Yes,  they  interfered  with  Business,  which  was 
manifestly  wrong. 

Now,  of  all  Commercial  Ventures  for  the  enter 
prising  mind 

There  was  none  of  greater  profit  than  the  sale  of 
humankind; 

Being  older  than  the  Pharaohs,  it  was  patently 
correct, 

For  the  Negro  had  no  right  that  any  White  Man 
need  respect. 

But  these   Demagogues  and   Ranters  they  must 

agitate  and  rave 
With  their  philanthropic  twaddle  of  "the  Sorrows 

of  the  Slav*" 

[201] 


Till  they  won  the  Blacks  the  freedom  that  was  only 

meant  for  Whites 
And  impoverished  the  Nation  by  destroying  Vested 

Rights. 

Yes,  they  interfered  with  Business;  they  invoked 
the  dreadful  curse 

Of  a  war  that  drained  our  life  blood — and  our 
money,  which  was  worse; 

With  their  cant  of  "Equal  Justice,"  with  their 
anarchistic  din, 

Oh,  they  interfered  with  Business — the  Unpardon 
able  Sin! 


Don't  you  interfere  with  Business,  be  the  business 

what  it  may. 
Don't   you   interfere   with    Business,    interference 

doesn't  pay. 
Let  the   briber  breed  corruption  with   his  foully 

gathered  hoard; 
Let  the  money-changers  flourish  in  the  Temple  of 

the  Lord; 

[202! 


Let  the  poison  venders  prosper,  let  the  franchise 

grabber  cheat, 
Let   the    deft    financial   juggler    pile    up    millions 

through  deceit, 
Let  the  sharper  tempt  the  gudgeon  with  his  shining, 

gilded  lure, 
Let  the  grafter  burst  his  coffers  with  the  plunder  of 

the  poor, 

Let  the  soul  betrayers  batten  in  their  depths  of 
native  slime! 

Don't  you  interfere  with  Business  though  that 
business  be  a  crime! 

Live  in  oily,  fat  complaisance!  Be  a  sweet,  sub 
missive  clod! 

No,  don't  interfere  with  Business — if  the  Dollar 
be  your  God! 


[203] 


A  MODERN  INSTANCE 

THIS  isn't  poetry — class  it  as  verse; 

Neither  the  subject  or  treatment  is  new; 
Take  it  for  better  or  take  it  for  worse, 

What  can  be  worse  than  the  fact  that  it's  true? 

Bartos  Voislowsky  was  only  a  Pole, 
Destined  for  nothing  exalted  or  fine, 

Born  for  the  purpose  of  carrying  coal 
Out  of  the  heart  of  the  Larrikin  Mine — 

Carting  the  anthracite  day  after  day 

Forth    from    the    mountain-bulk,    blasted    and 

drilled, 
Leading  his  mule  on  the  perilous  way 

Past  the  black  pit  where  his  father  was  killed. 

Bartos  Voislowsky,  at  sixteen  a  man, 

Cared  for  his  mother  and  all  of  her  brood — 

[204] 


Three  little  brothers,  a  clamorous  clan- 
Finding  them  shelter  and  clothing  and  food. 

Bartos  Voislowsky  was  earning  his  wage 
When,  with  a  billow  of  smothering  breath, 

Down  in  a  tumult  of  thunderous  rage 

Roared  the  blue  slate-rock  and  crushed  him  to 
death. 

Then  said  the  Coroner:   "Case  forty-nine: 
Bartos  Voislowsky;   we  find  that  the  same 

Came  to  his  death  in  the  Larrikin  Mine, 

Crushed  by  a  rock-fall — and  no  one's  to  blame." 

No  one  to  blame!  though  a  timberless  roof 
Threatened  his  life  every  step  that  he  trod. 

No  one  to  blame.     In  defiance  of  proof, 

No  one  to  blame!      'Twas  the  Hand  of  his  God! 

One  more  brave  miner  lies  mangled  and  dead; 

One  more  poor  widow  is  mourning  her  son; 
Three  more  wee  children  are  crying  for  bread, 

No  one  to  feed  them,  and  naught's  to  be  done. 

[205] 


Count  it  in  millions,  the  worth  of  that  mine; 

(What  is  the  worth  of  a  life  and  a  soul?) 
Seek  not  for  payment  of  pension  or  fine; 

That  would  diminish  the  profit  on  coal. 

Wherefore:  Let  "Justice"  be  purchased  in  stealth; 

Timber  is  dearer  than  sorrow  of  wives; 
Bow  to  that  ark  of  your  covenant,  Wealth. 

What  should  be  cheaper  than  God-given  lives? 


[  206 


NO  ONE  TO  BLAME 

THE  People  chose  a  Mayor  who  was  affable  and 

bland, 
Because  the  Bosses  named  him  and  he  bore  the 

Party  Brand. 

The  Mayor  made  Appointments  from  among  his 

Party  Friends, 
And  thus  redeemed  his  Pledges  and  advanced  his 

Party's  Ends. 

These  Friends  awarded  Contracts,  in  the  customary 

way, 
To  sundry  wise  Contractors  who  could  make  the 

Business  pay. 

And  then  the  wise  Contractors,  who  approved  of 

Party  Rule, 
Put  up  a  Gorgeous  Building  for  a  Model   Public 

School; 

[207] 


Its  walls  were  lath  and  plaster  and  the  stairs  were 

kindling  wood. 
The  Mayor's  keen  Inspectors  viewed  the  Work 

and  found  it  good. 

A  Fire  swept  the  Building  (no,  that  wasn't  in  the 

Plan; 
How  frail  amid  the  Elements  the  Aitifice  of  Man!); 

Two  hundred  children  perished  in  a  hell  of  smoke 

and  flame. 
Deplorable  Catastrophe, — but  No  One  is  to  blame! 


208] 


HERCULES  &  CO. 

WHEN  Hercules,  beside  the  Lake 

Of  Lerna,  cut  to  pieces 
The  many-headed  water  snake — 

(That  venom-breathing  species), 

The  Mob,  rejoicing,  danced  around, 

Of  Dignity  divested; 
But  Persons  of  Discernment  frowned 

And  solemnly  protested, 

"That  Hercules,  in  having  wrought 

The  Hydra's  dissolution 
Without  a  Warrant,  set  at  naught 

The  Grecian  Constitution!" 

When  Hercules  prepared  to  cleanse 

The  rank  Augean  stables, 
A  thousand  scribes  with  fountain  pens 

Were  busy  at  their  tables. 

[209] 


They  wrote  him  down  "A  Theorist " 

(He  did  not  think  as  they  did); 
They  called  him  "Blatant  Egotist" 

Because  he  worked,  unaided; 

They  said,  "This  *  Cleansing'  Fad  has  grown 

A  Curse  that  needs  repressing. 
Why  can't  he  leave  this  Thing  alone? — 

The  Smell  is  so  distressing!" 

When  Hercules  ensnared  the  grim 

Wild  Boar  of  Erymanthus, 
They  did  not  pin  one  Rose  on  him 

Nor  yet  one  Polyanthus. 

"This  'Feat/"  they  said,  "is  not  the  least 

Amazing  or  surprising; 
Besides,  he  only  caught  the  beast 

To  get  some  Advertising! 

"His  Methods  are  Undignified 

And  Tactless!"     (That  was  stinging!) 

"A  Cultured  Person  would  have  tried 
To  soothe  the  Brute  by  singing!" 

[210] 


But  Hercules,  with  faith  sublime, 

Pursued  his  many  labors. 
He  said  he  had  a  Corking  Time, 

And  loved  the  pleasant  Neighbors. 

For  some  are  born  to  set  things  right, 
While  some  are  built  for  sneering, 

And  he  that  likes  to  work  and  fight 
Must  never  mind  the  jeering. 

So  here's  a  health  to  Hercules 
And  all  his  Working  Brothers! 

The  Lofty  Few  they  fail  to  please, 
Perhaps, — but  there  are  Others! 


211  ] 


OUT  OF  WORK 

HEARTSICK  an'  hopeless,  jostled  by  the  mob, 
Trampin'  the  pavement,  lookin'  for  a  job! 
Here  I'm  a-driftin',  weary  through  an'  through, 
Seekin'  employment — anythin'  to  do! 

Youngsters  and  old  uns  hurry  up  an'  down, 
Each  on  his  errand,  through  this  busy  town, 
Each  on  his  errand,  triflin'  though  it  be; 
No  one  is  idlin* — savin'  only  me. 

Poverty's  nothin'!     Hunger  ain't  so  bad; 
Longin*  and  loathin' — that's  what  drives  ye  mad! 
Longin'  for  action,  cravin'  for  yer  part; 
Loathin'  yer  bondage,  eatin'  up  yer  heart. 

Big,  strong,  an'  able,  nothin'  of  a  shirk, 
If  I  was  cattle  some  one'd  find  me  work! 
Some  one  Vd  drive  me,  single-hitch  or  span, 
If  I  was  cattle! — Pity  I'm  a  man! 


I  can't  be  useless!    Somethin'  must  be  wrong! 
No  good  o'  whinin'  ?    Yes,  I'll  move  along — 
Heartsick  an'  hopeless,  jostled  by  the  mob, 
Trampin'  the  pavement,  lookin'  for  a  job. 


213 


BLAME  IT  ON  THE  ENGINEER 

A  LURCH  that  flings  the  rushing  train, 
A  roaring  shock  that  rips  and  rends, 

The  groan  of  death,  the  shriek  of  pain 
And — Holy,  Holy  Dividends! 

"The  Engineer?     Poor  chap,  he's  killed. 

That  makes  the  explanation  clear. 
A  trusted  servant,  tried  and  skilled, — 

We'll  blame  it  on  the  Engineer. 

"Too  bad;  he  served  us  fairly  well. 

Of  course,  we  gave  him  ample  pay 
And  worked  him,  through  this  torrid  spell, 

Not  more  than  sixteen  hours  a  day. 

"His  train  was  late,  it  seems  agreed; 

He  disobeyed  commands,  we  fear, 
And  tore  ahead  at  reckless  speed; — 

Let's  blame  it  on  the  Engineer." 


Some  day,  some  day,  the  Truth  may  leap 
In  lines  of  flame  across  the  Blue, 

Of  eyes  weighed  down  for  want  of  sleep, 
Of  Greed  that  works  one  man  for  two, 

Of  coward  shifts,  of  simple  zeal; 

And  when  the  witnesses  appear 
Perhaps  the  Court  of  Last  Appeal 

Won't  blame  it  on  the  Engineer. 


15  [215] 


DERELICTS 

TEMPESTS  may  harry  and  blast, 
Fogbanks  delude  and  bewilder; 

Shattered  are  rudder  and  mast — 
Was  the  Pilot  at  fault,  or  the  Builder? 

These, — to  the  calms  of  the  park 
Tossed  by  the  storms  of  the  city, 

Drifting  from  daybreak  to  dark, — 
These,  whom  you  scoff  at  or  pity, 

Sometime  were  soul-dowered  men 

Warm  with  Promethean  fire. 
May  they  be  manlike  again? 

Can  they  awake  and  aspire? 

Weakened  by  hunger  and  care, 

Fouled  by  the  slime  they  have  trodden, 
Palsied  by  drink  and  despair, 

Vacant-eyed,  aimless  and  sodden, 

1 216] 


Lounges  the  beggarly  throng, 

Squalid,  unwholesome,  and  tattered. 

Why  are  you  gallant  and  strong  ? 

Why  are  they  shipwrecked  and  shattered? 

Was  it  the  wave  or  the  rock, 

Was  it  a  crime  or  a  blunder 
Made  the  stout  vessel  a  mock, 

Wracking  her  keelson  asunder? 

Raise  them  from  evil  and  shame, 
Aid  them  and  do  not  contemn  them. 

Dare  you  apportion  the  blame? 
Are  you  divine  to  condemn  them  ? 

Tempests  may  harry  and  blast, 

Fogbanks  betray  or  bewilder; 
Shattered  are  rudder  and  mast — 

Was  the  Pilot  at  fault,  or  the  Builder? 


217 


CAUSE  AND  EFFECT 

THE  powder  lay  in  heaps — a  threat 

Of  death — where  powder  should  not  lie; 

Some  fool  threw  down  a  cigarette — 
And  flaming  ruin  rent  the  sky. 

Whereat,  a  solemn  jury  met 

And  laid  the  blame,  in  wisdom  rare, 

On  him  that  threw  the  cigarette, 

Not  them  that  left  the  powder  there. 

Upon  the  heaps  of  Want  and  Shame 
Whereon  men  build,  one  evil  day 

Some  fool  will  fling  a  wrord  of  flame — 
And  what  will  follow,  who  shall  say? 

But  should  all  earth  be  overset, 
We'll  lay  the  blame,  in  dull  despair, 

On  him  that  threw  the  cigarette, 

Not  them  that  left  the  powder  there. 

[218] 


A  FUNERAL  ORATION 

As  Delivered  in  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Dividends 
in  Bond  Street,  with  a  Chorus  of  Unsolicited  Responses 
by  Rank  Outsiders. 

DEAR  friends,  a  mighty  man  hath  joined  the  Blest, 

CHORUS: 

A  mighty  man  indeed,  but — let  him  rest! 

A  man  of  works  and  faith,  a  man  of  force, 

CHORUS  : 

Who  lied,  broke  faith  and  robbed  without  remorse. 

A  worthy  life  was  his — a  life  of  toil. 

CHORUS  : 

His  noble  aim  in  life  was  boundless  spoil. 

Steel-nerved,  he  builded  railroad,  ship  and  mill; — 

CHORUS: 

And  ruined  all  who  dared  oppose  his  will. 


How  sweet  and  mild  the  inner  life  he  led! 

CHORUS: 

The  tiger,  too,  is  mild  when  fully  fed. 

How  kind  he  was  a  thousand  friends  will  say. 

CHORUS: 

He  fed  his  jackals  fat,  so  well  they  may! 

His  faults?    Be  still!    His  faults  we  leave  to  God. 

CHORUS: 

And  teach  our  sons  to  tread  the  way  he  trod? 

What  wealth  he  gave  our  grateful  hearts  confess. 

CHORUS: 

His  very  charity  was  selfishness. 

He  filled  a  million  shelves  with  learned  tomes, — 

CHORUS: 

And  builded  palaces  on  wrecks  of  homes. 

His  gifts  to  church  and  college  ever  grew. 

CHORUS: 

He  robbed  the  poor  to  help  the  well-to-do. 

[220] 


Upon  these  walls  his  name  shall  be  inscribed! 

CHORUS: 

The  Church  may  take,  but  God  remains  unbribed. 


[  221  ] 


MY  HOST 

MY  host  is  old  Katahdin; 

He  doffs  his  cap  of  cloud 
To  pledge  the  royal  bounty 

He  gives  his  heart-avowed: 

"Thrice  welcome  to  the  mountain, 

Thrice  welcome  to  the  glen! 
By  Rod  and  Pack  and  Paddle, 

The  woods  are  yours  again! 
Again  my  winds  shall  call  you, 

My  trails  shall  tempt  your  feet; 
I'll  pour  you  laughing  water 

And  berries  cool  and  sweet. 
In  shack  or  rocky  shelter 

Where  you  may  choose  to  house, 
Your  couch  shall  be  of  bracken, 

Your  bed  of  balsam  boughs. 

[222] 


And  when  the  mood  shall  move  you 

To  cast  the  feathered  lures, 
Katahdin  Brook,  my  darling, 

And  forty  ponds  are  yours! 
There's  hemlock-shadowed  Abol 

And  Beaver,  deeply  mossed, 
There's  Windypitch  and  Grassy, 

There's  Lillypad  and  Lost. 
The  deer  shall  stand  before  you, 

The  dappled  fawns  shall  play, 
While  overhead  shall  banter 

The  squirrel  and  the  jay. 
And  Peace  shall  be  your  comrade 

On  every  bowered  quest; 
And  through  my  darkening  treetops 

The  stars  shall  watch  your  rest." 

Above  the  seaward  rivers, 
Above  the  highland  plain, 

My  host  is  old  Katahdin 
Among  the  pines  of  Maine. 


223] 


THE  CHALLENGE  OF  THE  YOUNG  MEN 

WE  are  weary  of  your  factions 

With  their  hollow  battlecries; 
We  are  sick  of  broken  pledges, 

We  are  sick  of  specious  lies. 
You  have  promised,  we  have  trusted, 

You  have  failed  and  failed  again; 
We  have  had  enough  of  parties; 

Give  us  Men!     Give  us  Men! 

Oh,  a  truce  to  poor  excuses! 

We  have  seen  and  we  have  heard. 
Is  it  hard  to  do  your  duty? 

Is  it  hard  to  keep  your  word? 
Is  it  hard  to  deal  the  justice 

You  have  sworn  with  tongue  and  pen? 
We  are  done  with  trade  and  barter! 

Give  us  Men!     Give  us  Men! 

[224] 


We  shall  find  them,  we  shall  know  them; 

We  shall  call  and  they  will  heed — 
Downright  men,  however  labeled, 

Men  of  honest  thought  and  deed; 
Men  who  will  not  shirk  or  palter, 

Who  will  shame  your  weak-kneed  sloth; 
Then — a  plague  o'  both  your  houses! — 

We  have  had  enough  of  both ! 

We  are  coming,  we,  the  young  men, 

Strong  of  heart  and  millions  strong; 
We  shall  work  where  you  have  trifled, 

Cleanse  the  Temple,  right  the  wrong, 
Till  the  land  our  fathers  visioned 

Shall  be  spread  before  our  ken. 
We  are  through  with  politicians! 

Give  us  Men!     Give  us  Men! 


225] 


PULL  YOUR  WEIGHT 

THE  billows  are  heaving  behind, 

The  breakers  are  foaming  before; 
We  need  all  the  strength  we  can  find — 

Each  ounce  you  can  put  to  an  oar. 
Are  you  doing  the  best  that  you  can 
To  keep  the  old  galley  afloat? 

Are  you  power  or  freight? 

Are  you  pulling  your  weight — 
Are  you  pulling  your  weight  in  the  boat? 

It  isn't  the  task  of  the  few — 

The  pick  of  the  brave  and  the  strong; 
It's  he  and  it's  I  and  it's  you 

Must  drive  the  good  vessel  along. 
Will  you  save?    Will  you  work?    Will  you  fight? 
Are  you  ready  to  take  off  your  coat? 

Are  you  serving  the  State? 

Are  you  pulling  your  weight — 
Are  you  pulling  your  weight  in  the  boat? 

[226] 


AMERICA  IN  ARMS 

THE  forests  of  her  riverlands  are  marching  on  the 

deep, 
The  spruces  of  her  mountain  sides  are  driving 

through  the  sky, 

Where,    laden    with    her    harvestings,    her    new- 
launched  navies  sweep, 

Where,  hovering  on   mighty  wings,   her  battle 
eagles  fly. 


Oak  and  hemlock,  fight  for  her! 

Ash  and  cedar,  smite  for  her! 

Fight  for  her,  O  stalwart  spruce  and  heaven-pierc 
ing  pine! 

Give  the  force  she  sent  to  you — 

All  the  strength  she  lent  to  you, 
Beating   back   the   sullen   foe   and    rolling   to   the 

Rhine! 

[227] 


The  chasms  of  her  cloven  hills  are  pouring  out  their 

ore, 
The  hollows  of  her  deeper  earth  are  giving  of 

their  might; 
While  all  the  day  her  forges  ring,  her  foundries 

clang  and  roar, 

And,  lifting  flame  of  sacrifice,  they  flare  against 
the  night. 

Sledge  and  anvil,  smite  for  her! 
Coal  and  iron,  fight  for  her! — 
Bullet,  bomb,   and  bayonet,  pledge  of  forge  and 
mine, 

Let  the  strength  you  hold  for  her 
Thrill  the  arms  you  mold  for  her, 
Rolling  back  the  stubborn  foe  in  tumult  to  the 
Rhine! 

Her  cities,  farms,   and  villages  are  offering  their 

best, 

For  lake  and  prairie,  wood  and  hill  have  heard 
her  signal  drum. 

[228! 


She  sent  her  summons  North  and  South,  her  chal 
lenge  East  and  West, 

And    arming   millions    marched — and    still    the 
marching  millions  come. 

Clerk  and  sailor,  fight  for  her! 
Smith  and  farmer,  smite  for  her! 
Strike    for    her,   O   merchant    prince    and    hardy 
artisan ! 

Give  your  hearts  anew  to  her, 
Pay  the  debt  that's  due  to  her! 
Win  the  peace  of  love  and  law  and  hope  for  every 
man! 


229] 


THE  WORK 

"SNAP!"  went  the  cables, 

"Crack!"  went  the  chains; 
Down  dropped  the  scaffolds, 

Down  came  the  cranes. 
Big  Tim,  the  foreman, 

Swore  like  a  Turk: 
"Hold  hard,  ye  lubbers! 

Stand  by  The  Work! 

"Stand  by  The  Work! 

Sure,  there's  nothing  to  fear  for. 
Stand  by  The  Work! 

What  are  tackle  and  gear  for? 
Stand  by  The  Work! 

Ah-h,  what  else  are  ye  here  for? 
Stand  by  The  Work!" 

Up  go  your  bubbles, 
Down  go  your  schemes; 
[230] 


"Crash!"  fall  your  castles, 
"Puff!"  go  your  dreams. 

Kin  may  desert  you, 
Friends  only  shirk. — 

Stamp  on  your  trouble! 
Stand  by  The  Work! 

Stand  by  The  Work! 

There's  no  manhood  in  crying. 
Stand  by  The  Work! 

There's  no  profit  in  dying. 
Stand  by  The  Work! 

All  Disaster  defying, 
Stand  by  The  Work! 


16 


[231] 


THE  RED  CROSS  NURSE 

SHE  goes  amid  the  maddened  press 
Of  Teuton,  Briton,  Slav,  and  Gaul, 

Our  Nation's  White  Ambassadress, 
The  foe  of  none,  the  friend  of  all. 

Above  the  guns,  above  the  cheers 
For  Flag  or  Kaiser,  Folk  or  King, 

The  common  cry  alone  she  hears — 
The  cry  of  human  suffering. 

Still  men  will  play  the  devil's  game 

Though  all  must  lose  and  none  may  win, 

And  still  a  foolish  world's  acclaim 
Exalts  the  sworded  paladin; 

But  tears  will  fall  and  lips  will  pray 
And  hearts  beat  warm  in  every  land 

For  her  who  saves  while  heroes  slay. 
Oh,  valiant  soul;    oh,  gentle  hand! 
[232] 


THE  PACIFIST  PORCUPINES 

A  PARTY  of  Pacifist  Porcupines 
Proposed  to  abolish  all  Quills  and  Spines, 
Because  (as  they  argued,  on  modern  lines) 
The  Panthers  and  Bears  of  the  wood's  confines 
Considered  thorniferous  Porcupines 
As  Enemies  harboring  Base  Designs. 
"So  let  us,"  propounded  these  Porcupines, 
"Discard  our  provocative  Sheaves  of  Tines 
For  Violets,  Lilies,  and  Columbines; 
And  all  of  the  Panthers,  the  Soul  divines, 
Will  shortly  be  sending  us  Valentines." 
But  one  of  the  Veteran  Porcupines 
Arose  and  responded,  "My  Ward  declines 
To  take  any  stock  in  such  Monkeyshines! 
We  note  that  the  Rabbits  among  the  vines 
Are  amiably  guiltless  of  Quills  and  Spines; 
And  yet  when  a  Panther  to  sup  inclines 
Full  often  a  Rabbit  his  life  resigns, 

[233] 


Our  Peaceful  Tradition  this  Heart  enshrines, 
But,  Quills  for  Defense!  when  a  Panther  dines! 
Yes,  Quills! — till  the  Lynxes  and  Bears  show  signs 
Of  shedding  their  Talons  and  sharp  Canines!" 
That's  all  that  I  gathered  beneath  the  Pines, 
Except  that,  regardless  of  Plaintive  Whines, 
A  Congress  of  Patriot  Porcupines 
Refused  to  surrender  their  Quills  and  Spines. 


234 


THE  ANSWER 

HARK  to  the  bugle! 

Hark  to  the  drum! 
Doubt,  be  forgotten! 

Faction,  be  dumb! 
One  is  our  Nation, 

Honored  and  dear; 
Who  will  defend  her? 

"Every  man  here!'; 


When  did  our  Country 

Bootlessly  call? 
What  shall  we  give  her 

Less  than  our  all? 
Under  her  banner, 

Stainless  and  clear, 
Who  shall  be  marshaled? 

"Every  man  here!" 

[235] 


Who  is  for  Honor, 

Spotless  and  bright? 
Who  is  for  Justice, 

Duty  and  Right — 
All  that  the  Fathers 

Bade  us  revere? 
Who  is  for  Freedom  ? 

" Every  man  here!" 

Fling  down  the  hammer, 

Lay  down  the  pen! 
Need  that  which  called  us 

Call  us  again? 
Take  up  the  saber, 

Lift  up  the  spear! 
Who  marches  onward? 

"Every  man  here!" 


236] 


THE  REALM  OF  FANFARONA 

THE  Realm  of  Fanfarona  was  a  Most  Progressive 

State, 
And  it  Hushfully  admitted  it  was  Valorous  and 

Great; 
And  it  modestly  acknowledged   its   Pre-eminence 

in  Worth 
As  the  Noblest  and  the  Grandest  and  the  Freest 

Land  on  Earth. 


The  Wicked  Hoola-Boola  was  the  King  of  Malle- 

camp — 
A  Highly  Able  Tyrant,  though  a  Robber  and  a 

Scamp, 
For  he  never  Blew  the  Trumpet  till  he'd  Drawn 

the  Shining  Sword — 
And  he  marched  on  Fanfarona  and  he  took  the 

Town  of  Ord. 

[237] 


The   Realm   of  Fanfarona  was   astounded   at  the 

Wrong, 
But  it  never  lost  its  Temper,  for  it  knew  that  it 

was  Strong; 
So  it  sent  an  Ultimatum,  a  Remonstrance,  and  a 

Note, 
And  the  Wicked  Hoola-Boola  took  the  Town  of 

Pillicote. 


The  Realm  of  Fanfarona  felt  Exceedingly  Ag 
grieved, 

And  its  Statesmen  clearly  Stated  that  they  verily 
believed 

That  the  Wicked  Hoola-Boola  was  an  Ogre  and  a 
C7houl! 

And  the  Wicked  Hoola-Boola  took  the  Town  of 
Molecule. 

The   Realm   of  Fanfarona,   after  Long   and   High 

Debate, 
Announced  with  Deep  Regret,  that  it  was  forced  to 

Intimate 

[238] 


The  So-to-speak  Existence  of  a  Quasi  State  of  War. 
And  the  Wicked  Hoola-Boola  took  the  Town  of 
Metaphor. 

The  Realm  of  Fanfarona  made  a  Promise,  there 

and  then: 
"We  Are  Going  to  Have  an  Army  of  a  Hundred 

Million  Men! 
We  Are  Going  to  Have  a  Navy  that  will  bridge  the 

Seven  Seas!" 
And  the  Wicked  Hoola-Boola  took  the  Town  of 

Litotese. 

The  Realm  of  Fanfarona  scratched  its  Figurative 
Head; 

"We'll  have  to  change  our  Plan,"  that  Realm  of 
Fanfarona  said; 

"When  the  Wicked  Hoola-Boola  shows  his  Pre 
datory  Might, 

It  is  Time  to  quit  our  Talking  and  just  buckle 
down  to  Fight!" 


239 


THE  MARINES 

THEY'VE  kept  the  flag  as  stainless  as  the  honor  of 

their  corps 

Since  first  the  flag  was  born  to  make  men  free — 
Our  nation's  fighting  vanguard  of  the  ocean  and 

the  shore, 

The  ever-ready  Soldiers  of  the  Sea. 
Though    Bering  might   be   frigid,   or  the  weather 

might  be  hot 

In  Haiti  and  the  sunny  Philippines, 
Wherever  there  was  trouble  they  were  foremost  on 

the  spot, 
The  East-by-West  United  States  Marines. 

They  never  questioned  what  an  order  hid; 

They  never  balked  at  odds  of  three  to  one; 
They  went  where  they  were  sent;  they  did  as  they 

were  bid, 

And  when  you  heard  about  it,  it  was  done! 
[240] 


They  take  their  little  journeys  on  a  warship,  as  a 

rule; 

But  they  can  make  a  trip,  in  case  of  need, 
By  dromedary,  omnibus,  or  elephant,  or  mule, 

Or  anything  that  shows  a  trace  of  speed. 
They've  done  some  pretty  fighting   (with   appro 
priate  regrets); 

They've  done  a  heap  for  Universal  Peace; 
For    Law-and-Order    marches    with    the    flashing 

bayonets 
Of  Uncle  Sam's  Terrestrial  Police. 

Their  badge  of  "Here  and  There  and  Everywhere" 
Is  blazoned  on  their  banner,  floating  high: 

The  Anchor  for  the  sea,  the  Eagle  for  the  air, 
The  Globe  for  all  the  lands  beneath  the  sky. 

They've  heard  the  word  "impossible,"  but  don't 

know  what  it  means. 
They    scorn    the   vulgar    bonds    of   space    and 

clime; 

For  Uncle  Sam's  ubiquitous  United  States  Marines 
Are  doing  something,  somewhere,  all  the  time. 


Perhaps  they're  winning  victories  with  diplomatic 

wiles, 

Or  decimating  predatory  ranks; 
They  may  be  running  governments  on  palmy  tropic 

isles, 
Or  Sunday  schools,  or  hydroplanes,  or  tanks, 

Or  serving  out  destruction,  hot  or  cold, 
Or  charging  down  the  muzzle  of  a  gun. 

They  go  where  they  are  sent;   they  do  what  they 

are  told, 
And  you  may  hear  about  it  when  it's  done. 


[242] 


FARMERS 

OLD  Cadmus  was  a  farmer, 

Though  born  to  spear  and  shield; 
Arrayed  in  brazen  armor, 

He  tilled  a  stubborn  field. 
With  dragons'  teeth  he  sowed  it  then, 

And  from  Boeotian  glebes 
There  leaped  the  valiant  fighting  men 

That  crowned  the  walls  of  Thebes. 


Old  Cadmus  was  our  brother; 

A  goodly  crop  he  grew — 
As  we  shall  grow  another 

That  plow  the  acres,  too. 
Our  garden  beds  and  fertile  farms 

Shall  yield  the  strength  divine 
That  nerves  the  mighty  man  at  arms 

And  builds  the  battle  line, 

1 243] 


Then  bravely  to  your  labors, 

My  lads  that  dig  the  loam! 
Your  blades  of  wheat  are  sabers 

That  strike  for  flag  and  home. 
And  though  ye  gain  but  little  thanks 

That  wield  the  spade  and  hoe, 
Your  hills  of  corn  are  stalwart  ranks 

That  march  against  the  foe! 


244] 


RED  TAPE 

SAID  the  Officer  Commanding:  "  Tis  a  pleasant 
Winter  Day, 

And  I  want  a  Heap  of  Blankets  and  I  want  'em 
right  away! 

And  I  want  a  Lot  of  Uniforms  and  Overcoats  and 
Boots 

To  preserve  the  Martial  Vigor  of  our  Promising 
Recruits; 

For  Napoleon,  or  Hannibal,  or  Caesar,  I  am  told, 

Found  that  Soldiers  fought  much  better  when  pro 
tected  from  the  Cold; 

And  I  trust  my  Observations  are  in  Military  Form, 

But  I  love  my  little  Army,  and  I'd  like  to  have  it 
warm!" 

And    the    Quartermaster    answered    with    a    wan 

Official  Smile: 
"I  shall  send  a  Requisition  in  the  Legal  Form  and 

Style 

[2451 


To  the  Acting  Tenth  Assistant   in   the   Board  of 

Speed  Control, 
Who  will   Docket  it   and   Poke  it  in  the   Proper 

Pigeonhole. 
When  the  Eighteenth  Under-Deputy  has  found  it 

hiding  there, 

He  will  Specify  and  Advertise  with  Customary  Care; 
So,   in   time,    they'll   give   a   Contract — though    I 

cannot  tell  you  when, 
But  I   think  you'll  get  your   Blankets  when   the 

Robins  nest  again!" 

Said  the  Officer  Commanding,  as  he  pulled  his 
graying  Hair: 

"I  should  like  to  have  some  Rifles,  if  you  have  a 
few  to  spare; 

I  should  like  to  have  some  Cannon  and  a  Ton  or 
so  of  Shell — 

Just  any  kind  that's  Shootable  will  answer  very  well ; 

For  Hostile  Guns  are  hurling  Shot  with  Personal 
Intent, 

And  Etiquette  demands  that  we  return  the  Com 
pliment; 

[246] 


Besides,  they  say  that  Washington  and  Grant,  and 

several  more, 
Considered  Weapons  requisite  to  Victory  in  War." 

Said  the  Second  Chief  Retarder  of  the   Board  of 

War  Delay: 
"We  appreciate  your  Ardor,  but,  you  know,  this 

isn't  Play. 
Through  the  Skill  of  Chosen  Experts,  by  applying 

every  Test, 
We  must  zealously  determine  what  Invention  is  the 

Best. 

Should  the  Fortunate  Inventor  be  a  Personable  Man 
Whom  the  Board  delights  to  honor,  we  shall  For 
mulate  a  Plan. 
Thus,  observing  Due   Precautions,  we  shall   bear 

your  Case  in  Mind, 
And  I'm  sure  you'll  have  your  Cannon  when  the 

Peace  is  being  signed!" 

What   a   Lesson   to   a   Nation,   eager,   tense,    and 

passion-flushed, 
Is  a  smoothly  working  Bureau  that  refuses  to  be 

rushed! 
17  [  247  ] 


With  its  Calm,  Divine  Aloofness,  with  its  Cold, 

Judicial  Staff, 
Like   a  great  Mill,  grinding  grandly,  though  the 

Grist  thereof  be  Chaff! 
Pleas    are   futile,   Needs   are   nothing;     Haste   or 

Change  means  Waste  of  Force; 
Men  may  starve  or  die,  but  Matters  still  Must 

Take  Their  Proper  Course. 
Patience,   Patience!     Great  is   System! — slow,   at 

times,  yet  sure  as  Fate. 
What  a  Pity,  Shame,  and  Outrage  that  the  Enemy 

won't  wait! 


[248] 


THE  RED-TAPE  WORM 

OH,  the  Red-Tape  Worm  is  a  Loathly  beast 

As  he  gloats  on  his  daily  ration; 
And  he  makes  his  lair  and  he  takes  his  feast 

In  the  Cave  of  Procrastination! 

Where  the  frosty  glare  of  his  eye  congeals 
'Tis  the  death  of  the  best  ambitions. 

He  is  proud  and  strong  in  Official  Seals 
And  in  Forms  and  in  Requisitions. 

And  he  feeds  him  full  on  the  Gold  of  Time, 
And  he  moves  men's  souls  to  faction, 

And  he  clogs  men's  minds  with  his  deathly  slime, 
And  he  palsies  the  Arm  of  Action. 

Let  the  Hero  ride!     May  his  heart  be  firm 
When  he  strikes  for  our  liberation! 

May  he  pierce  the  gorge  of  the  Red-Tape  Worm 
To  the  cheers  of  a  ransomed  Nation! 


SWORD  AND  HORN 

WHERE  shattered  crags  are  tumbled  heap  on  heap, 
Within  a  cave,  King  Arthur  lies  asleep 

Among  his  knights,  who  wait,  with  steel  on  side, 
The  call  that  yet  shall  bid  them  mount  and  ride. 

And  where  those  knights  in  iron  slumber  ring 
A  nation's  hope,  the  golden-bearded  king, 

There  hangs  a  horn,  long  centuries  unbreathed; 
There  hangs  a  sword  in  leathern  scabbard  sheathed. 

A  shepherd  once,  among  the  hills  astray, 
To  that  weird  cavern  found  the  secret  way. 

He  stared  upon  the  great  king,  helmed  and  crowned, 
The  armored  paladins  in  slumber  bound, 

The  stalwart  earls  in  silk  and  miniver, 
The  ready  steeds  awaiting  but  the  spur. 
[250] 


The  sword  and  horn  he  saw; — for  woe  or  weal, 
The  horn  he  seized  and  blew  a  mighty  peal. 

The  cavern  rang!     The  great  king  half  awoke 
And  scornfully  in  rumbling  thunder  spoke: 

"Woe,  woe  to  thee  that  ever  thou  wert  born 
That,  ere  thou  drewest  sword,  didst  blow  the  horn !" 

A  wild  wind  whirled  the  shepherd  from  the  glen; 
The  great  king  bowed  his  head  in  sleep  again. 

Forgive  to  us  our  waverings,  feeble  willed, 
Our  waste,  our  sloth,  our  pledges  unfulfilled, 

Our  empty  vauntings! — Oh,  forgive  us,  Lord, 
That  blew  the  horn  before  we  drew  the  sword! 


251 


ALLIES  DAY,   1917 

FLAGS    of   the    Great    Free    Nations,    splendidly 

glowing, 
Mingling  your  glorious  hues  in  the  flame  of  the 

sun, 
Lift  up  our  souls  with  your  heraldries,  twining  and 

flowing! 

One  is  our  strength  as  the  hearts  of  your  millions 
are  one. 

Yours  are  our  hearts  and  our  all  that  is  worthy 

your  spending. 
What  is  our  best  to  be  weighed  with  the  wonder 

to  be! 

Flags  of  the  Great  Free  Nations,  billowing,  blending, 
Blazon  to  heaven  your  pledge  that  the  world 
shall  be  free! 


252 


NEW  YEAR,   1918 

As  Father  Time  came  speeding  where  I  stood, 
I  boldly  grasped  him  by  the  scanty  forelock 

Exactly  as  the  proverb  says  you  should, 
And  thus  apostrophized  the  ancient  warlock: 

"Disclose  to  me,  my  over  hasty  friend, 

Diminishing  your  zeal  for  whizzing  past  one, 

The  sort  of  New  Year  that  you  mean  to  send; 
We  didn't  altogether  like  the  last  one." 

He  stared  at  me  with  eyes  of  glacial  blue: 

"A  New  Year!"  laughed  the  hoary  planet  rover. 

"We  don't  send  New  Years  to  the  likes  of  you; 
The  best  you  get  are  Old  Years,  furbished  over! 

"The  Year  that  last  you  hailed,  with  crazy  din, 
The  new-born  hope  of  what  you  term  your  own 
age, 

Was  dragged  from  dark  Oblivion's  dusty  bin  - 
A  slightly  altered  relic  of  the  Stone  Age!" 

[253] 


"Then,  Time/*  I  cried,  "let  now  the  Fates  remold 
A  gladder  New  Year!     Let  their  hands  refashion 

A  healing  twelve  month  from  the  Age  of  Gold, 
For  Earth  is  sick  of  hatred,  woe,  and  passion!" 

Wan  Chronos  looked  half  tenderly,  and  then — 
I  woke.  Above  the  hills  the  sun  was  climbing; 

And  strong  men  rose  and  strove  to  bring  again 
The  Age  of  Gold — and  I  sat  down  to  rhyming. 


254 


NEW  YEAR,   1919 

"An!"  sighed  the  World,  as  he  turned  in  bed 
With  a  pillow  of  cloud  for  his  poor  old  head, 
And  lowered  the  roller  shade  of  Night, 
And  blew  out  a  star  that  shone  too  bright — 
"The  Year  is  gone  with  his  toil  and  strife, 
The  storm  and  surge  of  the  tide  of  life, 
The  crazy  brawl  of  the  human  breed, 
And  I'll  rest  at  last — for  it's  rest  I  need!" 

Down  came  an  elf  through  the  moonlight  pale 
From  the  Milky  Way  on  a  comet's  tail; 
His  traveling-bag,  in  letters  clean, 
Was  marked,  "A.  D.  Nineteen-nineteen." 
He  turned  up  the  lamps  that  were  burning  low 
And  prodded  the  World  with  a  small  pink  toe. 
"Get  up!"  he  cried;   "that's  enough  for  you! 
There's  a  heap  of  things  for  a  World  to  do! 

[2551 


"There  are  wounds  to  bind,  there's  a  map  to  fix, 

There's  a  beautiful  tangle  of  politics, 

There  are  towns  to  build,  there  are  wheels  to  start, 

There's  a  load  of  crowns  for  the  junkman's  cart, 

There's  an  ancient  fraud  in  a  brand-new  dress, 

There  are  lovely  riddles  for  men  to  guess, 

There  are  dreams  to  dream,  there  are  heights  to 

climb, 
And  you  can't  lie  there  and  waste  my  time!" 

So  the  World  rose  up  with  a  plaintive  groan, 
Stubbing  his  toe  on  a  tumbled  throne, 
To  round  the  Sun  on  his  wonted  track — 
The  deep-grooved  Trail  of  the  Zodiac, 
That  way  of  sorrows  and  joys  and  aches, 
Of  noble  efforts  and  fool  mistakes. 
But  it's  good  for  the  poor  old  World,  at  that; 
For  a  drowsy  Planet  gets  much  too  fat. 


256] 


FARRAGUT  IN  MADISON  SQUARE 

THE  spirit  that  burned  in  the  clay 

Survives  in  the  bronze;  and  the  peerless 

Old  Sailor  who  fought  in  the  Bay 

Lashed  fast  to  the  rope  ladder,  fearless 

And  vigilant,  looks  on  the  brawl 
Below,  in  its  turbulent  mazes. 

And  what  does  he  think  of  it  all 

As,  waked  by  the  sea  wind,  he  gazes? 

"They  haste,  as  they  hastened  of  old, 
Still  driven  by  folly  and  passion, 

Those  eager-eyed  hunters  of  gold, 
These  fribbles  of  glittering  Fashion. 

"And  who  in  that  eddying  throng, 
So  brilliant  with  vigor  and  fire, 

Will  balance  the  right  and  the  wrong 
When  stirred  by  the  flame  of  Desire? 

[257] 


"Aye,  who  of  the  self-loving  band 
Will  pause  for  the  weal  of  another, 

Or  reach  forth  a  generous  hand 

To  rescue  a  down-trampled  brother? 

"Shall  these  be  the  mothers  of  men — 

These  moths  that  are  mad  after  pleasure? 

Would  those  save  the  Nation  again— 
The  blind,  ever  groping  for  treasure? 

"'The  froth  and  the  bubbles?'— I  know, 
They  rise  to  the  brim,  being  lighter; 

But  that  which  is  hidden  below — 

Who  knows? — is  it  finer  and  brighter? 

"Yet  why  should  I  doubt  who  have  seen? 

Again  let  the  trumpet  awaken, 
And  all  that  is  sordid  and  mean 

Shall  dwindle,  and  self  be  forsaken; 

"The  land  will  arise  as  before, 

Flame-hallowed  and  nobler  and  grander. 
My  people  are  sound  at  the  core, 

Thank  God!" — says  the  Old  Salamander. 

[258] 


HOME  AGAIN 

PADDLING  steadily  league  by  league 
Toward  the  carry  of  Debsconeag, 
Skirting  the  pools  where  the  great  togue  lie 
And  the  swift  trout  flash  on  the  scarlet  fly, 
Down  the  wild  West  Branch  we  came. 
Turning  maples  touched  with  flame 
Ferny  banks  where  birches  leaned; 
Dark  behind,  the  spruce  wood  screened 
Abol  Stream  and  Little  Mink 
Where  the  deer  come  down  to  drink. 


Up  the  river  a  wild  duck  flew; 

Following  after,  a  white  canoe 

Toiled  and  climbed  where  the  rapids  ran, 

Poled  from  the  stern  by  a  stalwart  man 

Nearer  and  nearer — until  we  saw 

The  laughing  face  and  the  shaven  jaw, 

[259] 


The  service  cap  on  the  wind-tossed  hair, 
The  khaki  coat  and  the  Croix  de  Guerre. 
"Wait/*  said  Lisle,  "here's  a  chap  I  know; 
Give  him  a  broadside  while  we  go." 

"How  be  you,  Dan?"     "How  be  you,  Lisle?" 
"Glad  you're  back?"     "Well,  I  should  smile!" 
"Seen  a  lot  of  doin's?"     "Ye-es, 
Nigh  to  all  there  was,  I  guess." 
"Feelin'  rugged?"     "Fine  an*  strong." 
"Meet  you  soon.     Good-by!"     "So  long!" 
The  brown  hands  crossed  the  joined  canoes 
In  the  firm,  warm  grip  that  woodsmen  use; 
And  up  the  river  went  soldier  Dan, 
Poling  away  where  the  rapids  ran, 
Poling  away  through  the  bubbling  foam, 
Back  from  the  war  and  going  home! 

Plome!  to  the  woods  that  are  always  clean, 
Where  the  long  trails  wind  and  the  moss  is  green, 
Where  the  fawns  peer  out  and  the  partridge  drums, 
And  the  cool,  sweet  wind  from  Katahdin  comes. 

[afo] 


Home!  where  it's  good  to  be  alive 
In  the  rush  and  roar  of  the  river  drive; 
Where  winter  nights  are  made  for  sleep 
When  the  stars  are  keen  and  the  snows  lie  deep. 
Home!  where  the  brooks  go  mad  in  spring 
And  the  soul  is  free  as  the  osprey's  wing, 
Where  hearts  are  true  and  speech  is  plain. 
Home! — God  bless  you,  men  of  Maine! 


THE    END 


RETURN 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

ALL  BOOKS  MAY  BE  RECALLED  AFTER  7  DAYS 


DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 


FORM  NO.  DD  19 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  BERKELEY 
BERKELEY,  CA  94720 


\ 


U.C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


CDD7DD3SS7 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


